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PEREGRINATIONS 



OF THE 






MIND, 

THROUGH THE 

MOST GENERAL & INTERESTING 

SUBJECTS 

USUALLY AGITATED IN LIFE. 



Bv the late Mr. WILLIAM BAKER, 

printer. 

A NEW EDITION 5 

To which is prefixed, a Biographic Memoir of the Author. 



There are three modes of life ; one practical, the other theoretical, 
the other luxurious: the practical one is destitute of philosophy 
and gross; the theoretical is without experience and of no 
utility; the luxurious life is the slave of its pleasures and 
disgraceful. Plutarch* 



LONDON: 

Printed by the Editor, Howford-buildings, Fenchurch-street. 

FOR 

SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, PATERNOSTER-ROW j AND COOPER 
AND PURDY, 47, LUDGATE-HTIX. 

1811. 



IV 

to mathematical studies considerably injured 
his health ; and the great progress that he 
made determined his father to educate him 
for holy orders, to which his own inclina- 
tions led him, especially as they were flat- 
tered with hopes of encouragement by a dig- 
nitary of the church; but the friendship of 
this great man ended in disappointment. 

At the usual age, therefore, our author 
was apprenticed to Mr. Kippax, a printer, 
in Cullum-street, London ; and the con- 
nexion of his employment with literature, 
aided by a contented temper, softened the 
disappointment of earlier prospects. In this 
new mode of life, he evinced an exemplary 
industry in the attainment of learning ; and 
the study of the antients engaged his leisure, 
frequently even the hours of repose. The 
perquisites of extraordinary attention to bu- 
siness were devoted to increase his collec- 
tion of books, and to the purchase of the 
best editions of the classics. * The great 
exertion of mind and body thus persevered 



* The collection alluded to was very choice, though not ex- 
tensive, and was purchased at Mr. Baker's decease by Dr. 
Lettsom. 



V 

in so materially reduced the health of Mr, 
Baker, by the baneful operation of he- 
morrhage and cough, that but slight hopes 
were conceived of his recovery: happily, 
the aid of country air and medicine restored 
him to his friends. 

On the death of Mr. Kippax, our author 
succeeded to the business, which he carried 
on, first in Cullum-street, and afterwards in 
Ingram-court, in partnership with Mr. Gala- 
bin, who was many years in the common- 
council of Langbourn-ward, and is now prin- 
cipal bridge-master of the city of London. 
The succeeding years of Mr. Baker's exist- 
ence were quietly passed in the management 
of his business, and the gratification of clas- 
sical and scientific pursuits. 

The unassuming merits of this lamented 
gentleman were duely estimated by many 
eminent friends, well qualified to judge of 
them ; among whom may be mentioned, Dr. 
Oliver Goldsmith; Dr. Edmund Barker; 
the Rev. James Merrick, translator of Try- 
phiodorus, and author of many other pieces; 
Mr. Robert Robinson;* the Rev. Hugh 

* 'Compiler of the " Indices Tres " of words in Longinus, Eu- 



VI 

Farmer; the Rev. Caesar de Missy, one of 
the French chaplains to the king ; James El- 
phinston, esq. ; &c. &c. 

Of the Greek, Latin, French, and Italian, 
languages, our author possessed very supe- 
rior knowledge; he was somewhat acquaint- 
ed with the Hebrew language, and to his 
own had given much judicious attention; the 
fruits of which appear in some ingenious 
M, S. remarks, pointing out the frequent 
abuse of grammatical propriety in common 
conversation, even in superior rank, and 
among reputable writers. A respectable ta- 
lent for poetry produced several detached 
pieces ; which, with many smart jeux d'es- 
prit, &c. were published in the various peri- 
odical miscellanies. In compositions for the 
pulpit, he evinced a very correct taste, and 
many excellent sermons were accepted and 
used by his clerical friends. 

In the year 1770, Mr. Baker published 

napius, and Hierocles. In his preface, this gentleman mentions 
them as composed by the advice of Mr. Merrick, by whose recom- 
mendation they were, in 1772, printed at the Clarendon press at 
the expense of the university ; and the compiler liberally re- 
warded. — The learned and philanthropic Mr. George Dyer has 
performed the office of biographer to his friend, Mr. Robin&on. 



Vll 

the present very ingenious work, (long since 
become scarce,) as having been written "By 
the nationalist;" and in 1780, " Theses, 
Greece et Latinae, selects, " 8vo, pp. 192; a 
judicious and tasteful selection from a varie- 
ty of Greek and Latin originals, abundantly 
enriched with the lines t passages of authors 
that enter into the general routine of in- 
struction, and with extracts from writers of 
less familiar occurrence.* An elegant Latin 
correspondence with Mr. Robinson, and 
some letters of inquiry into difficulties in the 
Greek language, still exist; to bear honora- 
ble testimony of our author's erudition, and 
die opinion entertained of him by compe- 
tent scholars. 



* A copy of the Theses, presented by Mr. Baker to the late Mr. 
David Steel, (author of the Elements of Punctuation,) contains 
the following M. S. remark. " I think this collection valuable on 
account of its correct punctuation. It would afford ample mate- 
rials for a grammatical system of pointing the Latin language. 
D. S. " — We presume to add, in this place, an opinion that such 
a work might be a useful accession to classical literature. The 
attainments of the gentleman last-mentioned would have rendered 
such a collection useless to himself, who was intimately connected 
with Mr. Baker, and viewed him, as being many years his junior, 
both with reverence and affection ; but correct typography is of 
use among the junior classes of students in raising their attention 
by degrees from construction to criticism. 



Vlll 

Mr. Baker's singular diffidence probably 
prevented the communication of the result 
of his intense studies. Such was his habit- 
ual modesty, that his opinion was seldom eli- 
cited without an absolute appeal to his 
judgement ; and many of his most intimate 
friends (whose inclinations had not led to 
similar pursuits) were perfectly ignorant of 
his various and extensive learning. 

After considerable exertion in walking, 
about Christmas, 1784, he first experienced 
a violent affection in the side, unhappily ne- 
glected till assistance was ineffectual. The 
unmanageable nature of the disease # frus- 
trated the professional skill of many men 
of eminence, by whom he was kindly at- 
tended. For nearly nine months, Mr. Baker 
sustained the severest sufferings with patient 
fortitude, exerting his social disposition with 
facetious pleasantry, when free from pain ; 
and on the 29th of September, 1785, in the 
forty-fourth year of his age, he closed a truly 
amiable life. His remains were deposited in 
one of the vaults of St. Dionis Backchurch, 

* A prodigious enlargement of the omentum, which gradually 
augmented to the weight of twelve pounds. 



IX 



the parish of his constant residence in Lon- 
don ; and the following epitaph is placed on 
the tomb of his family, in the church-yard 
of St. Mary, Reading. 

M. S. 

Parentum, fratrumque duorum, 

Quorum senior fuit 

Gulielmus Baker, 

Vir literarum studiis adeo eruditus, 

Graecarum praecipue Latinarumque, 

Ut arti, quam sedulus excoluit 

Londini, 

(Ubi, in templo Dionysio dicato, 

Ossa ejus sepulta sunt,) 

Typographical ornamento, 

Ac familiaribus, 

Ob benevolentiam animi, 

Morum comitatem, et modestiam, 

Deliciis et desiderio fuerit. 

Omentum ejus auctum usque ad duodecim pondo 

et ultra, 

Literatos, auxiiio eruditionis eximiae ; 

Sororemque, et fratres, et patrem senem, 

Dulcibus illiu3 alloquiis ; 

Ipsumque, mortem oculo immoto intuentem, 

Vita, privavit, 

Die Septembris 29, 1785, 

jEt. 44. 

E filiis, Johannes 

Hoe marmor 

P. C. 



If we have said enough to excite a con- 
viction, that Mr. Baker was possessed of en- 
dowments which qualified him to take pre- 
cedence of many who now press confidently 
forward into the crowded ranks of litera- 
ture; then will it be needless for the editor 
to compromise the merit of our author's in- 
tellectual remains by the plea of private at- 
tachment, while their own intrinsic value, to 
the liberal reader, may afford both a motive 
and a sanction for presenting these essays 
again to the eye of a literary public. 



INTRODUCTION. 



IT may not be thought amiss, by way of 
introduction, to give some little account of 
the following chapters; the reasons for the 
choice of them, and the end proposed by 
them. 

Chap. 1 (On the Stage) is in answer to 
some retaled objections, that were originally 
suggested by bigotry # and prejudice, against 
theatrical amusements, much insisted on by 
the priests of the Romish Communion, to 

* In tracing- objections to theatrical exhibitions from bigotry, 
the author was aware that reflexions had been thrown on them at 
a time when bigotry was out of the question : such we find in lib. 
xiv. of Tacit. Annal. But against what were they levelled? 
Against lewdness. To lewdness, then, let them be confined; -and 
not extended to scenes of innocence 

B 



2 

serve the purpose of spiritual tyranny, which 
was endangered by freedoms assumed in 
lashing and unmasking vices hid under the 
cloak of solemnity. If, in defending these 
improving amusements, the author should 
seem, to any one, too much inclined to re- 
commend dissipation, he declares he no far- 
ther approves them than as they are condu- 
cive to welfare. 

The second chapter (On Love) was penned 
in consequence of a private dispute with a 
learned and sensible gentleman, who main- 
tained the existence of it to be a result 
of fashion. It was judged proper to pre- 
mise this, lest the author should seem to be 
fighting against the air. 

Chapter 3 (On Happiness) may possibh 
bear a stoical aspect, not meant to belong to 
it; but it is designed only to convey the dic- 
tates of a rational voluptuary. 

The three subsequent chapters seem to 
demand no comment. 

The chapter on War is taken up on an old 
grievance; but a repetition of such senti- 
ments will, it is feared, be never unseason- 
able: for what signifies inveighing against 
and punishing crimes that affect only a few 



3 

individuals, and overlooking enormities that 
tend to the destruction of millions? As often 
as war is mentioned, the old, yet shrewd, 
remark of the little pirate to the great robber 
will ever start up in the memory. It has, 
indeed, been alleged, as a consolation for 
this inhuman butchery, that, in combination 
with pestilence and other calamities, it takes 
off superfluities that would, in a course of 
years, overstock the globe : though there is 
little danger of such a redundance; a very 
considerable part of the world is at this day, 
and has been time immemorial, uninhabited, 
as if to make room for emigrants. But war- 
riors have not that remedy in view; their 
own ambition is all they consult : on which 
account they are not so amiable as execu- 
tioners, who remove only the nuisances of 
society. It is that spirit of greediness and 
ferocity that incites to war, which is cen- 
sured ; a spirit which, within a smaller cir- 
cle, within the private concerns of mankind, 
produces knaves and villains. Even if it 
were necessary to prune the luxuriance of 
the human race, let Calmncs and Tartars, 
Turks and Arabs, the weeds and worthless 
branches, be lopped off; the men whose mi- 



cultured passions confound them with brutes, 
and who could almost feed on the carcases of 
those they slaughter ; not the polished and 
civilised inhabitants of Europe, who are en- 
lightened by the beams of science, and ought 
to shake off savage manners. 

Chap. 8, in defence of theatrical humor, 
appeared not unseasonable at a time when 
the rage for refinement, imported from a 
neighbour-kingdom, bids fair for banishing 
one of the most pleasing qualities of the 
stage, the representation of real character. 

From this we pass on to chap. 11, (On 
Patriotism,) introduced as a subject much in 
question at these jarring times. 

Chap. 13 (Antient and modern virtues 
compared) attacks what the author esteems 
a prejudice; by which the want of reserve 
and gravity is construed as a proof of cor- 
ruption, to the discredit of that freedom 
which every honest heart must love. Be- 
sides, there is something so gloomy in the 
unreasonable notion of continual degenera- 
cy, as quite to dishearten a man. * 

* Should it be thought that the authorities adduced from Petrc- 
nius are doubtful ; that M. Nodot has imposed on the world in his 
story of the copy said to be found at Belgrade; and that the cop- 



Chap. 14 (On the secrets of metaphysics; 
is a natural result of the disappointment 
which ever awaits the diving researches of an 
inquisitive mind into the mysteries of nature. 
In this chapter no reflexions are meant to be 
thrown on the philosophic ornaments of lite- 
rature ; but only a lamentation on the boun- 
daries of human knowledge, which is be- 
wildered when it would grasp at what is be- 
yond its reach. 

Lest the author should be arraigned for 
detraction in chapter 15, (On the unreason- 
able compliments paid to the antients for 
their works, exemplified in Horner,) he will 
here, as he has in the body of that chapter, 
remark, that he reverences genius in every 
age, whether amongst antients or moderns ; 
at the same time that he prefers that which 
is combined with judgement. The beauti- 
ful quotations with which he has adorned se- 
veral of his pages shall serve to evince what 

sul Petronius was not the author of what has been long fathered 
on him ; admitting all this, no shining quality beside patriotism 
seems so to blazon the Greek and Roman characters, in the unim- 
peached accounts of other writers, as to raise our envy ; and even 
that principle, amiable as it was when confined to the proper limits 
of its native district, was sullied by many unwarrantable sallies it 
made, sword in hand, abroad. 





a regard he has for their real excellences ; 
which he is sorry to find interspersed with 
deformities: the greatest portion of them, 
notwithstanding, it must be confessed, falls 
to the share of the prose w Titers, though a 
poet is here in question; judgement being 
more particularly the province of the former, 
and genius of the latter. 

Since chap. 17 (On cruelty) was penned, 
a doubt started up, whether a repetition on 
this subject, to a reader of feeling, does not 
merit that appellation. If it should chance 
to offend, let the insertion of it be numbered 
with the errata. 

Thus far was judged proper to be premised 
of particular chapters. 

Many of the chapters (1, 2, 9, 13, 16, 
and 20,) are casuistical. The reason why 
they were chosen was, that in problematical, 
or controverted, topics, there is greater scope 
for argument and a less probability of the 
charge of triteness being exhibited, than in 
others. It is at all times allowed to obtrude 
opinions on disputed points, when settled and 
confirmed notions wouldnot suffer a repetition. 

If it be objected that some of the subjects 
have been handled before, the author an- 



swers, in his vindication, that he has not 
always been satisfied with the opinions he 
has met with, which have too much rested 
on systems, and on systems frequently not 
founded in nature. The remarks he has 
ventured to expose are such as were sug- 
gested by his own private observation or ex- 
perience : and where they concur with the sen- 
timents of authors that precede him, he has 
their suffrage; where they do not, he will 
take candor for his plea, and the love of 
what appeared to him in the guise of truth. 
He has talked much of prejudice : if he has 
given any examples of it peculiar to him- 
self, he begs his readers' pardon ; and, when 
convicted, with pleasure kisses the rod of 
correction, from whatever quarter. Candor 
with him ever does, with every one ever 
ought to, wear the fairest form. 

The learned reader will find many obser- 
vations herein contained old and familiar, 
which may to others appear in the garb of 
novelty and importance. It is with books 
on every subject, in some degree, as it is 
with grammar ; that a system, be it good or 
bad, is made up of trifles, on the selection 
of which depends the character of the au- 



8 

thor. In grammar, letters, syllables, and 
words, are to be properly arranged : in spe- 
culative topics, we look for a just disposition 
and choice of ideas and sentiments. 

In most common subjects, after the mul- 
titude of authors, little else is to be hoped 
for but a difference of dress. Writing has 
this in common with painting. The human 
body has been painted numberless times by 
numberless painters, with limbs, colours, and 
canvass, nearly the same; but each has a 
manner peculiar to himself: and it were 
more agreeable sometimes to gaze on a faulty 
piece, for the sake of variety, than always 
to be confined to the sight of a few excellent 
portraits. 



PEREGRINATIONS 



OF THE 



MIND. 



CHAPTER I. 



On the Stage. 



To mortal man no blessing e'er is giv'n, 
Which may not prove a curse, though sent by heav'n. 

Ovid, 

. The general tendency of the theatre has been the 
subject of much controversy among moralists. It has 
been thought by some to have a good effect in reform- 
ing the manners of a people; whilst others have de- 
claimed against it as one of the instruments of the 
devil. One represents it as the school of virtue; ano- 
ther as the nursery of vice. One asserts that it in- 
flames the passions ; another that it dilates the breast 
and opens the human heart : but both sides agree that 
it is not a matter of indifference, which can do neither 
good nor harm. 



10 [Chap. i. 

In all controversies (it is proper to premise) the dis- 
putants on either side present the dark or favourable 
side of a question to view, according as it suits their 
several purposes ; and endeavour to conceal and sup- 
press every circumstance that makes for their antago- 
nists. This observation is founded in fact, and true of 
most disputes in general; but it is eminently appli- 
cable to the friends and enemies of the drama, who 
have, each in their turn, variously characterised it ac- 
cording as their different fancies led them. 

Among the antients, the theatre was in general in 
esteem with their writers, the most austere of whom 
considered it as a school of instruction: another cause 
for objections against it must be assigned, which is not 
difficult to be discovered. Bigotry and superstition 
have been, at different times, the parents of every folly, 
and, what is worse, the nursery of crimes. From this 
odious source are originally derived the objections which 
have been made to the representation and writing of 
plays, for the public entertainment ; and (to the honor 
of dramatic pieces be it spoken) they have met with 
the most virulent opposition from the professors of the 
Romish communion, who even deny those concerned 
in them the privileges of their fellow-citizens. A rea- 
son for this is easy to be imagined, and has been often 
hinted at : as it is the proper province of the comic 
muse to expose knavery and folly, that church had the 
highest reason to dread her lash. The priests gave the 
alarm, and the simple part of the world have echoed 
back their cries. 



Ckap.i.} If 

In order to justify their censure of the drama, its- 
enemies of every denomination have unfairly selected 
the loose and unchaste productions of some writers of 
this class, and from them pronounced sentence on 
all. The partiality and injustice of this procedure are 
too glaring to be pointed at. I am not at all surprised 
if objections are made to unchaste comedies : it is not 
the interest of a well-regulated community to encou- 
rage them. Luxury and debauchery unnerve the hu- 
man frame, and are undoubtedly the characteristics of 
a state leaning rather to a decay, than rising to a 
greater perfection, as history amply testifies ; and they 
scarcely ever need a spur, as nature is but too prone to 
prompt to those irregularities : but the passion of love, 
indulged with such restrictions as comedy ought to 
teach, is a generous principle, and may, under certain 
circumstances, be deemed even a virtue. 

Now I am on this point, a fair opportunity offers 
itself of paying a compliment to the delicacy of the 
present age. It is notorious (particularly of late years) 
that the highest disapprobation has been shewn of what- 
ever borders on indelicacy in any shape ; and that even 
to an excess. To such a height has this humor been 
carried, as to explode what might have been very fairly 
allowed, without violation of decorum, and what the 
colouring of character sometimes requires in support 
of a piece. # From Aristophanes, who had the least 

* A memorable example of this mock-delicacy was not long 
since exhibited, in the cold reception an excellent comedy met with 
from the spectators. The piece I mean is The Good-natured Man, 



™ [Chap. t. 

imaginable regard to decency, down to our own times, 
comic writers have, by a reformation on this head, gra- 
dually and wisely contributed to wipe off aspersions of 
this kind, as sensible that the wantonness of men needs 
not satyrion, nor their madness wine. 

The objections made to indecent comedies, then, are 
equally applicable to writings of other kinds. Inde- 
cent memoirs, indecent novels, or indecent dialogues, 
are likewise to be exploded : but it does not follow 
that all memoirs, dialogues, and novels, are to be ex- 
tirpated because some are bad, any more than that all 
theatrical performances are to be forbidden because 
there have been unchaste comedies. By a similarity 
of reasoning might we plead for the prohibition of 
writings of all sorts, since pure and unexceptionable 

the production of an author of confessed abilities. The interest- 
ing scene of the bailiff and his follower, a scene abounding in real 
humor, upon which the plot in a great measure turned, was ordered 
to be curtailed, because it represented low-life, and wounded the 
delicate ears of the Midases of the upper gallery, who first con- 
ceived disgust. The Jovial Crew, the Beggars' Opera, and some 
others that might be named, meet with the greatest applause : the 
latter is even indulged so far as to be played for weeks without 
intermission. Is it their delicacy and connection with high-life 
that commands this encouragement ? But the public is a fickle 
judge, and does not always render merit its due. Could the esti- 
mation of those pieces be obliterated, it is chance but they would 
now meet the hiss that is levelled at supposed indecorum. Time is 
the touch-stone of merit, and they have stood the test. The peo- 
ple are told they are good, and therefore presume not to censure 
them on that score. I mean not to depreciate either : they have 
their excellence ; but this partiality, to the prejudice of more mo 
dern adventurers in authorship, is too gross to pass unnoticed. 



Chap, i.} 13 

works of every species may be contrasted with an 
Aretine, a Rochester, a Petronius, or a Cleland. The 
amount of such objections as these is actually no more 
than that bad plays are bad things; and so are bad 
priests or bad magistrates; but we are not therefore 
to discard all priests and magistrates, because some 
have been bad. 

It is likewise urged, by the enemies of the stage, 
that there are some who indulge in diversions of this 
nature to an excess. To this it may be replied, that if 
the children or dependents of any one are too much ad- 
dicted to them, and bestow more time and expense on 
them than their circumstances will warrant, it is partly 
to be laid to the account of the head of the family 
himself, who suffers this excess. Or even, admitting 
that others, who are under no controul but that of their 
own wills, incline to the same extreme, is the whole 
body of the public to be denied all amusement because 
some few 7 indulge to a fault ? As well might we as- 
sert that no public benefit whatever should be allowed, 
because all are capable of abuse. Would it be reason- 
able, for instance, to issue orders for the extirpation of 
fruit-trees, or for filling up all the wells in the kingdom, 
because it may happen that a boy may eat of the one, 
or drink of the other, in a burning heat, and so be 
thrown into a fever ? Questions of this sort might be 
asked without number, were it at all necessary. There 
is nothing but what is capable of abuse and misappli- 
cation from human perverseness. Prudence is the only 
guide in these and all other points, aud by that guide 



14 [Chap. i. 

ought every one to steer his course in the conduct of 
life. If there are men who have not the least share of 
this useful qualification in their compositions, I know 
not what methods can be taken with them: they are 
unfit for this world, and the sooner they are out of it 
the better. 

Perhaps, in tempers of the common stamp, a prin- 
cipal reason assignable for an immoderate passion for 
any thing is, that it is too great a novelty. This has 
been found to be the case in country towns where the 
comedians do not constantly resort: the consequence 
of which has been, that, when they made their appear- 
ance, the magistrates judged it expedient to dismiss 
them, because the giddy minds of the youth of both 
sexes were intoxicated with the pleasure they enjoyed 
in these spectacles : which dismission partly depended 
on the taste of the petty sovereign who presided du- 
ring the theatric visit. If he chanced to be a miser, 
a clown, or an hour-glass-maker, with a taste on a 

level with those characters, woe to the company ! 

Excluding the players does indeed prevent the effects 
of excessive indulgence ; but a surfeit is the most 
radical cure. 

In vindication of dramatic performances, it may 
with justice be said, that, if they do swell the passions, 
it is the nobler passions which are called forth ; pas- 
sions which, if well directed, are the ornaments of 
human nature. That they be properly regulated, it is 
the business of the author to provide. It is deeme'd 
by judges an imperfection m a performance* if it <So&$ 



Chap. i.~] 15 

not recommend virtue and propriety. The discerning 
poet esteems it his part to render vice as odious as 
possible, and to expose to view the deformity of it ; 
to present virtue in its native charms, and to enforce 
its dictates. The several passions of the human 
breast are by him summoned only where they ought, 
and where Nature herself is the prompter. Hatred 
for a villain, pity for the unfortunate virtuous, and love 
for the amiable fair, are no blemishes in reason or hu- 
manity. 

Plays are useful in another view. They contribute 
to the polishing and adorning mankind ; and politeness 
is a subordinate species of humanity. It is a point of 
consequence worth contending for, to keep a nation 
from a rude and barbarous state, by the assistance of 
the arts and sciences. Comedies, in particular, may 
boast this tendency, as greatly subservient to the pur- 
pose. In them, every vice, every impropriety, every 
indecorum, is marked and corrected ; and by them the 
spectator may be taught to disapprove in another what 
he could not discover in his own character. 

They are serviceable in displaying the variety of 
character in the world, and very proper lessons to 
teach what the dull apprehensions of many would 
otherwise have scarcely learned from their own obser- 
vations. Their most obstinate enemies will not sure- 
ly deny that to be one advantage resulting from them, 
or deem such an insight into life a point of no mo- 
ment. It must be acknowledged that this considera- 
tion merits every one's regard, us a principal view of 



16 [Chap. i. 

education ; and it is as indisputable a truth, that the 
high coloring of a play is more striking and affect- 
ing than the insipid and faint scenes of common life. 

If the reasons above alleged are judged inconclusive, 
an additional plea, and a material one, remains still be- 
hind. Granting that plays are, upon the whole, pro- 
ductive of neither good nor harm, (which is the great- 
est concession that ought to be made,) yet even in that 
case they should be tolerated from a consideration of 
the pleasure and amusement which are derived from 
them. Some relaxation is requisite in life from the 
toils and cares that surround us : # \ Apollo does not 
always bend his bow. ' Theatrical exhibitions are, by 
the generality of the world, esteemed a most agreeable 
species of entertainment. They are more than bare 
representations of life; they are representations embel- 
lished with all the decorations of fancy, and cannot 
fail to charm where taste is not wanting to relish the 
beauties of genius. This last consideration of plea- 
sure (as it is an innocent pleasure) is a plea that may 
be as strongly insisted on as any of the foregoing. It 
will be combated by none but those who have lost their 
relish for enjoyment, or are naturally sour or insensible 
hi their dispositions. As such, they are not to be re- 
garded in the common light of human beings, but ra- 
ther as marble statues, devoid of feeling. 

* Horat. lib.iu od. 10. 

Rat ya.% ta rojtt Kai rag Xupa? mtfjMj tva, emrtmi Jwnflto- 



fj.iv. Plutarch, d€ Educat. 



Chap. tV] 1 7 

There are certain instances of vice, and certain cus- 
toms prevailing in society, which every individual in the 
kingdom would agree to condemn : such instances and 
such customs, if inquired into, would probably appear 
to merit the general censure. The encouragement 
given to the stage is not one of those instances, as the 
censure passed on it is by no means general. The 
greater and more sensible half of the world consent to 
give it their countenance. Those that have denied it 
their suffrages are much inferior in number, and pre- 
judiced by education, niggardliness, or want of taste ; 
circumstances arising from some peculiar situation in 
life; and yet even they, under a change of their edu- 
cation or situation, would probably have entertained 
opinions of it wide of those they now are found to 
harbour. No one, with the common human feelings 
about him, can natural}}) dislike the stage; and argu- 
ments deduced from reason, I am persuaded, will not 
condemn it. An aversion to it must, in course, be re- 
garded only as one of those prejudices of a little mind 
which a peculiarity of education has given birth to, and 
deserves to be received with that contempt which is 
due to want of sentiment. 

Upon the whole, though I cannot accede to their 
opinion who think that plays ought to be discounte- 
nanced, yet I will not be so bigotted in their favour as 
to affirm that men's morals are much mended by them 
in respect to virtue and vice. That is a good effect 
which I can scarcely attribute to knowledge itself in 
general, and therefore do not much expect to find re- 

c 



18 [Chap, i. 

suit from any particular branch of it : but thus much 
I must again and again insist on in favor of the dra- 
ma, that, as far as it contributes to inspire with gene- 
rous sentiments, to promote good-nature and the social 
affections, and to enlarge and refine the mind, we have 
ample recompense for all the evil it can possibly have 
introduced. 



Chap, ii.] 19 



CHAPTER II. 



On Love. 



Thrice blest the pair who know not jarring strife, 
And whose last day of love's the last of life. 

Horace, 



The force and influence of that great tyrant, Custom, 
are so powerful, that the effects of it have been often 
blended with, and mistaken for, those of Nature her- 
self. Amongst other doubts which this confusion has 
given rise to, it has been with many a question, whether 
the passion of Love, as confined to one particular -ob- 
ject, to the utter exclusion of all others, is not rather a 
consequence of fashion, than a propensity of nature. 

For my own part, with respect to this dispute, both 
from a superficial view, and from a nice observation, 
I should esteem it highly probable that it has as real 
aii existence, independently of custom, as anger, or 

c 2 



20 [Chap. ii. 

pity, or envy, or any other affection of the mind. First 
then let it be remarked, that the natural tendency of 
education (or custom) is to diminish and curb the pas- 
sions. In proportion as learning and knowledge ad- 
vance, instinct and nature retire : reason then bears the 
sway, which, considered as abstracted from the body, 
condemns and discards all emotions whatever. 

There cannot be a more convincing proof of this, 
than the characters and conditions of those who have 
been the strongest, or (if you will) weakest, subjects of 
love. Scarce any journal of occurrences but furnishes 
instances of some unhappy lovers, who, disappointed 
in their views, seek that repose from their anxiety in 
the cold arms of Death, which they could not obtain in 
the embraces of those they loved. The conditions of 
such unhappy victims, if we take notice, have been ge- 
nerally humble and low, and the parties of an inferior 
education, and consequently more the sons and daugh- 
ters of Nature than those who deny the existence of 
love a foundation in her reign of simplicity. Now it 
cannot, with any tolerable shew of reason, be sup- 
posed, that an ordinary and trifling degree of emotion 
could prompt a rational being to a remedy which is be- 
set with terrors at all points. Fear is an exceedingly 
powerful and universal passion; and fear of death, to 
the vulgar especially, is the strongest of fears: yet ; 
mighty as it is, we often see it superceded by the force 
of love. 

Nor are the ignorant alone subject to such the pow- 
erful effects of this passion. It finds its way to the 



Chap, si.] 21 

hearts of the polished and well-educated part of the 
world, though a general taste does more prevail among 
them than among the former, and a lesser partiality to 
a particular object above another. 

It must likewise be considered, that, as one passion 
or view is counteracted and diminished by the presence 
of another, * the effects of love are rendered less ge- 
neral than they would otherwise be, by the intervention 
of some other object, which distracts the mind and 
half engages its attention. This is eminently the case 
in matrimonial views and contracts. One of the first 
and principal notions inculcated into children by their 
parents is, the necessity of amassing wealth above all 
things, f With this notion they at first set out, and in 
it they are confirmed by the practice of their neigh- 
bours, and an experience that money will purchase in- 
numerable blessings of life, with which the iniquity of 
the times will not present them without it. Love and 
Avarice then divide the empire between them, and ac- 
cording as the heart of our adventurer is generous or 
unfeeling, either rival gets the better of the other. 

Perhaps, to some readers, that may scarce seem to 



— . Ira cadit metu. 

Ovid. Amor, I, ii. eh 13* 

t Aia TtfTov [agyugov] uk a^eX^o?, 
£ia tutov a roweg* 
TloXtfxoty <povoi } &' clvtov. 
To £s X £( S 0V > oXkvfXBotia 
Lick, TtfTOV ( oi <f>*Xw«?. 

Anaereon* 



22 [Chap, ii 

deserve the name of a passion, which men have in their 
power to suspend or indulge so much at ease. But 
this does not amount to an objection. We have abun- 
dant examples of men's disregarding or subduing the 
several feelings of nature, by dint of resolution, or by 
inattention to their dictates, according as a distraction 
of views, their opinions of virtue, or their thirst of 
glory, led them. There are still greater examples of 
triumph over human weakness : patriotism, in particu- 
lar, among the Romans, may seem so to have trans- 
ported some great souls, as to have raised them above 
the condition of humanity, and to have realised the 
fancied superior order of heroes. # If Regulus could 
so far contemn his own private feelings and sufferings, 
when set in competition with his country's good, as to 
submit to torture and death, rather than in his own 
opinion approve himself an unworthy son of it, it was 
no proof of his want of feeling, but of an extraordina- 
ry resolution arising from another motive. 

It is rare indeed that a first-sight view 7 will kindle a 
flame. Love, as well as other affections, requires 
time and indulgence to wind it up to such a pitch as to 
occupy the chief attention of that person who is the 
subject of it, and deserve the name of a passion. Like 
the herbs of the field, it vegetates and increases in 

* Sed nee illo volimtario ad hostes sues reditu, [Reguli,] nee 
ultimo sive carceris, sive crucis, supplicio, deformata majestas : 
imo his omnibus admirabilior, quid aliud qiiam victus de victori- 
bus? atque etiam, quia Carthago non cesserat, de Fortuna triuiu- 
phavit. — - Florus. 



Chap. wVj 23 

proportion as it is tended and cherished; and, like 
them too, it is checked and blasted, if discouraged or 
neglected. 

Love will bear the strictest metaphorical comparison 
with fire. A single spark will often kindle a high- 
built pile ; but it needs some trifling assistance when it 
is in so weak a state. It is at first diminutive, and 
scarcely to be perceived; but a little fanning and encou- 
ragement will kindle it into flame, and convince the 
by-stander of its powerful force, by an appeal to his 
quickest senses. In like manner, the origin of many 
an amour has been equally inconsiderable, and the 
most trivial action, the most trifling circumstance, ob- 
served in either sex, has often shot a spark into the 
bosom of the other, and produced a flame requiring a 
river of water to extinguish it, and which has not died 
away but with the lamp of life itself. 

The rise and progress of this passion are different 
under 'different circumstances. It not only may not 
arise from a trifling interview, but even not be con- 
ceived till after the conjugal knot is tied. Love is 
sometimes the fruit of matrimony, as well as matrimo- 
ny is of love, and Cupid is the infant offspring of their 
mutual embraces. This is perhaps the happiest con- 
dition of a marriage state, as no mortifying disappoint- 
ment lurks behind. If the pairs did not expect a 
heaven of bliss, they were not alarmed when they 
found it not : but to find more ,J *i&n there was reason 
to hope for is doubly a blessing, and the possibility of 



tl [Chap.ii. 

it is spur sufficient to stir up many an adventurer, who, 
but for this, would never have proved his fate. 

The very constitution of society, the connexions 
formed between a man and his wife, and the necessity 
of the care of both of them for their offspring, were 
doubtless foreseen by the great Author of creation. 
As the case of man differs much from the condition of 
brutes, a different economy was requisite for their situ- 
ation, and the mutual love of the sexes was the noblest 
instance of wisdom that could have been exhibited. 
By this circumstance the interest in the tender babe, 
which is the fruit of their amour, is common to either 
parent, and the father is almost equally concerned for 
its safety and support with the mother that bore it. 

The sacred flame that animates a human breast is a 
noble composition of benevolence to the object be- 
loved, differing from the attachment of brutes, with 
which it is almost profaneness to compare it. Friend- 
ship is the foundation for this noble affection, which, 
when the contrary sex is the subject of it, by a preju- 
dice of nature, is converted into that particular species 
called Love. It is, however, possible that the different 
sexes may conceive a friendship for each other without 
the least tincture of the other passion ; but this will be 
found to be the case, when a disparity of years, a pre- 
possession in favour of another, or a form which plea- 
ses not, intervene. But let nature have her full scope 
and direction, let brnity be contrasted with beauty, 
and youth with youth, and the consequences of such a 



Chap, ii.] 25 

situation will evince how far the passion of love is of 
natural growth, provided no circumstance of prejudice 
diminish the human feelings. 

By a bountiful profusion of nature, the causes of 
love are as various as the different complexions of the 
human race. Some a temper allures, some a face. 
The tresses of his mistress, like the chains of a con- 
queror, hold another enslaved. There are again those 
who are captivated by the charms of a mind, and be- 
hold the virtues through a face, which is (as a late 
masterly writer expresses himself) ' their transparent 
covering. ' An arm, a heel, a mem, a size, and a 
thousand more such distinctions, have, each in its turn, 
captivated the heart of a hero. # 

That a man is often partly taken with the elegance 
of dress in his mistress, and not with her own personal 
charms alone, and that consequently his attachment 
in such a case should not be esteemed the thraldom of 
love, but a mere taste for magnificence ; •— even this is 
an arrant mistake, and I can, upon the authority of one 

* Nigra /wix^goo? est ; immunda et foetida ttxo<r^.^* 
Caesia naXXaW nervosa et lignea Sopa? 
Parvola, pumiiio, Xetgiruv ta, tota merum sal ; 
Magna atque immanis, ycara-rrXn^, plenaque honoris ; 
Balba loqui non quit, TgauXifsr muta pudens est ; 
At fiagrans, odiosa, Ioquacula, kapirahw fit; 
'Ic^vov s£Cd{jcsm turn fit quom vivere non quit 
Prae macie : pu&iv* vero est jam mortua tussi ; 
At gemina et mammosa Ceres est ipsa ab Iaccho : 
Simula ZiXw* ac satyra 'st; labiosa ftx^-a. 

Lticret. lib. iv. 



26 [Chap. ii. 

of the greatest masters of love the world ever pro- 
duced, declare such an opinion erroneous and false. 
Ornaments of art, as well as the accomplishments of 
nature, when they really enhance the elegance of ap- 
pearance in a female, are as much a part of the dear 
charmer that wears them, as her sparkling eyes, her bo- 
som of snow, or any other snare the syren bears about 
her. Natural endowments, and artificial ornaments, in 
such a manner assimilate, as to become inseparable. 
Dress, according to Ovid, # is to be considered in this 
light, and not as an adventitious or distinct mode of 
excellence. It is, as he observes, a part of the aegis 
which the god Cupid carries with him, amongst many 
other of his warlike accoutrements. 

If indeed it had ever been known, that a statue 
dressed up, or a post adorned with female attire, equal- 
ly charmed, and gained admirers, with a woman, I will 
give up the point I contend for, and with cheerfulness 
own myself in the wrong ; but, till I read of a man 
falling in love with a milkmaid's garland or a polished 
golden image, I must insist on considering the dress of 
a woman as a part of her person. 

Upon a recapitulation in my own mind of the ar- 
guments I have urged to refute the deniers of the ex- 
istence of Love, it occurred to me how much easier a 

* Auferimur cultu : gemmis auroque teguntur 
Omnia : pars minima est ipsa puella sui. 

Saepe ubi sit quodamas, inter tarn multa, requires, 
Decipit hac oculos aegide dives amor. 

Ov. Rem. Am. lib. i. 



Chap, flu] 27 

task it would have been for some of the lovely fair 
ones I have been talking of, with that powerful persua- 
sion, the eloquence of looks and ornaments, which na- 
ture and art combine to lend them, to have converted 
these infidels. # Before such conviction as they could 
afford, the sophistry of argument would appear dry 
and impertinent, and all I have advanced as empty 
words : but alas ! our philosophers are not so good as 
they ought to be ; •— they seldom appear at a church, 
where the fair shew themselves to the greatest advan- 
tage ; and an assembly is by much too trifling for a 
stoic. As the punishment due to their crimes, their in- 
flexible obstinacy, and insensibility, may they persist in 
their course therein, and never love ! 

* Qvyarvg S7riyaiu.& j 9 kclv c o\m$ fxn$£V XaX>j, 
&*a m o-wrrav wXb^a tts^i avrw; \eyet. 

Menand. $, 



28 



[Chap. in. 



CHAPTER III. 

On Happiness. 



In raptures sudden, and in flights too high, 
Expect and fear a fall ; for danger's nigh. 



Tasso. 



1 Happiness (says an antient writer) bears the 
semblance of satisfaction and perfection, being the 
ultimate aim of all our actions/ # How to arrive at 
it is the grand question, the great business of life : but 
it is universally agreed, that without a contented mind 
we catch at a shadow in the pursuit of it. He, that is 
not tolerably easy in every station, will never be per- 
fectly satisfied in any. 

Nothing is more frequent amongst moral writers 
than to represent content, a quality merely constituti- 

r?k&>. ~ Aristot. Eth, lib* u 



Chap. iii.\ 29 

onal, as a virtue and a duty, and discontent as a vice 
or a crime, a repugnance to the dispensations of hea- 
ven, and a tacit rebellion against its decrees. How 
far this idea is just, I shall not now inquire ; but whe- 
ther it be reasonable or not, sure I am it is a lesson as 
little regarded as any that ever flowed from the pen of 
a moralist. To oppose men's restlessness in search 
after happiness is to stem a torrent, and to barely 
enjoin content is to talk in an unknown tongue. 

In all our attempts to correct and inform, we should 
consider it as an essential point to humor the objects 
of our endeavours, without which all our precepts are 
lost in air. The most cogent and persuasive rhetoric 
that can be used, is to speak to the utility and self-love 
of mankind ; to make appear that our precepts are 
conducive to the desired end ; that happiness is equally 
the desideratum of both writer and reader. The dis- 
ciple of this reasoning will listen with attention to such 
a promising preceptor, and eagerly swallow a potion 
that is sweetened to his palate, as preferable to the 
bitter draught administered by the hand of a stoic. — • 
And whence, it may justly be asked, can be derived a 
more powerful persuasive in favour of content, (which 
is the essence of happiness,) than from a consideration 
of the nearly equal distribution of it amongst the whole 
human race? 

That this position of a nearly equal share of felicity 
is no chimaera will, I trust, be admitted by every one 
who thoroughly examines it at all points, and considers 
it in every view, Arguments deduced from actual 



30 [Chap. iii. 

pleasure and pain, if we attentively consider those sen- 
sations, suggest reasons to confirm the supposition. Let 
us trace things to their very source. Pain, which is 
in many cases the strongest of those two sensations, 
diminishes in a certain ratio, proportioned to the time 
it has been endured, by the very constitution of nature. 
This is not only the case in the more slight and com- 
mon instances, in the little inconveniences of life, but 
even in such as strike with horror at the bare mention 
of them. As a proof of it may be urged a memorable 
circumstance relating to one of the most striking ex- 
amples of pain that the rigor of law could inflict, in 
the execution of a notorious criminal in France ; # 
whp, after he had sustained part of the dreadful pu- 
nishment denounced against him, was asked a few- 
questions relating to the pain he had felt. Among 
other particulars of his answers is one which has an 
intimate connexion with the present argument. He 
declared that, even under this most intense circum- 
stance of misery, after he had been some little time in 
torture, his sense of pain became by degrees so lan- 
guid, as in a great measure to diminish the rigor of his 
sentence. But lest my gentle reader should be shocked 
at the cruelty of the example here given, I will dismiss 
it, and observe that every situation in nature is preg- 
nant with such proofs. As the hands become hard 
with labor, the body and mind both grow callous and 

* Mandrin, a famous smuggler, who was broke on the wheel 
for murder and other crimes. — A sentence, which he bore with a 
fortitude that would have done honor to innocence. 



Chap. lit;] 31 

insensible to pain : a circumstance which tends to al- 
leviate the sufferings of the miserable in every degree, 
by a peculiar blessing of nature. I have chosen to 
speak chiefly of pain, as it appeared to me the stronger 
instance of sensation : not but that pleasure, which is 
the immediate point in question, would have equally 
answered the purpose of conviction. The sweetness 
of honey, when first it is tasted, is exquisite ; but re- 
peated doses of it at last become palling and nauseous. 
There are certain bounds of pleasure and pain which 
cannot be passed or continued in their intensity : when 
arrived at those degrees, they stop, and gradually die 
away. 

So much being premised, we may draw a conse- 
quent inference, too obvious to be denied, as the plea- 
sures of body and mind in such manner represent each 
other, as to admit of the same arguments and observa- 
tions.— -The conclusion I mean is, that however flat- 
tering the state of one man appears to another who is 
less distinguished by the favors of Fortune, or more 
involved in the hurries and business of life, yet it by no 
means follows that the former is happier than the lat- 
ter. Business employs the load of time; wants are 
the forerunners of wishes, and wishes of enjoyment. 
The most elevated station, the most extensive posses- 
sions, the most exalted glory, which is the Elysium of 
heroes, pall and fade at last. The king on his throne 
surfeits with honor: he, that has all earthly blessings 
at his command, has no more left to covet and raise 
his hopes : like Alexander, he finds that one world's 



32 [Chap. Hi. 

extent will not fill up his wishes; It is not the nature 
of our constitution to keep up an even and constant 
zest for enjoyment ; and the more intense the pleasure 
is, the sooner the fibres of sensibility are broken. 

It must be allowed, that a transition from a present 
to a more desired state constitutes a short-lived happi- 
ness; but it is at the commencement of our change 
we must expect it. Afterwards we drop from the 
summit of our wishes, as from a high tower, measur- 
ing our fall by the degree of impatience with which 
we soared to our desires. 

Happiness, then, is content under another name. 
Without it, a man cannot be happy ; and with it, it is 
impossible he should be miserable. A consideration 
of this truth (though it is not expected it should pre- 
vent us from snatching at every little innocent whim 
that floats within our reach) is a strong argument for 
resisting inordinate and unattainable desires, which, 
like a vulture, prey continually on the vitals of the 
ambitious and restless . # If human nature requires 
sometimes a recreation, to keep off a general stagna- 
tion and torpor, we should marshal and discipline our 
desires, and direct them in their career. Custom is a 
potent master, and the powers and functions of body 
and mind, by a little perseverance, will submit to its 
control. 

* Nam petere imperium quod inane 'st, nee datur unquam, 

Atque in eo semper durum sufferre laboreui, 

Hoc est adverso nixantem trudcre nuonte 

Saxum ~— — Lucret. lib. UL 



Chap. iii.\ 33 

Had men of letter* in the several ages of the world 
been duly sensible of this one truth, the nearly equal 
distribution of happiness, such a confusion of systems 
had never been introduced, as the philosophers have 
formed, in their pursuit after that one great object of 
human wishes. School had not been set up against 
school, and system against system. The Stoic had not 
preached up apathy, as the only means of attaining it, 
and the Epicurean sensual delights. Cooler reason had 
reigned among men, and common sense been the stand- 
ard of truth and touchstone of absurdity. Content, 
which is essential happiness, would have continued in 
their steady course those whose ill-judged and over- 
weening expectations led astray after such a share of it 
as no situation in life will afford. Ambition, the Fury 
that stirs up envy and contention, would not have 
urged on the restless and greedy minds of selfish men 
to invade the property of an envied neighbour. The 
shepherd would have been pleased with his flock, and 
the lord of one kingdom satisfied without aspiring after 
universal monarchy, and sometimes purchasing to him- 
self the mortification of disappointment. 

The noblest gift of heaven is content. Riches and 
honor are but the flattering promisers of what content 
alone can give. Viewed through the medium of con- 
tent, kings and peasants are seen on a level, and the 
cot suffers no diminution when set by the side of the 
crown. The one is not despised, nor the other envied : 
but they are equally coasidered as accompanied with 
fheir share of felicity,. 



34 [Chap. Hi. 

He never wants who never wish'd for more : 
Who ever said an anchoret was poor? 

But, after all, if happiness is so easily to be attained, 
why will not every one purchase it at the price of his 
ambition? — Alas! prejudice is blind, and passion is 
strong. Men are with difficulty persuaded out of no- 
tions interwoven with their constitutions. It is easy to 
form an untinctured mind, but not easy to dispossess 
it of the strong garrison of early prejudice, which, as a 
lawless tyrant, rules and directs the actions and opini- 
ons. But though there are few who can be persuaded 
out of their favourite notions, the felicity of content 
may not be disputed. Some have actually felt the 
force of it, which others have not been able to con- 
ceive. Even should the advocate of content himself, 
the dictating moralist, by his unbridled wishes give the 
lie to his doctrine, content is still the same only parent 
of happiness it ever was, and no substitute whatever 
can be found to represent it. 

Weighty and natural as this truth is, it will seldom 
convert ; and the precepts that enjoin it are looked on as 
the rust and rubbish of chimerical morality. Regard- 
ing desires which rest on probability as the principal 
sources of pleasure, men will not remember that un- 
reasonable longings are the parents of pain. I will 
therefore dismiss my preaching, and not farther en- 
cumber a simple truth with needless remarks on it, lest 
the dull clothing it wears should contribute to scare 
away those who might otherwise be tempted to em- 
brace it 



Chap. iv.~] 35 



CHAPTER IV 

On Higotry. 



For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight : 

His cann't be wrong, whose life is in the right. 

Pope. 



There is not on earth a blessing which the per- 
verseness of man has not, at times, converted to a 
curse. Religion itself; which derives its birth from 
heaven, and is intended to perfect what Nature has 
laid the foundation for, has, among other things, by 
peculiar blindness and obstinacy, been often pressed into 
the service of murderers, cheats, and debauchees. # 

* Literally so. Under the first of these denominations may be 
comprised the herd of persecutors. Oracular priests have some 
right and title to the second appellation of cheats : and Bacchana- 
lians, and the more modern sects, who keep their love-feasts, or 
agapai, are to be considered as under the third distinction of de- 
bauchee*. — A hopeful tribe, indeed, to ^race the cause of religion ! 

D 2 



36 [Chap. 



w. 



The greatest ornament of humanity is a propensity 
to universal charity and benevolence : it is the noblest 
instinct Nature has given us, the great foundation 
whereon all other virtues are to be built, and the only 
proper standard by which we must estimate them. 
The first object, then, which religion, as the assistant 
of nature, ought to have in view, after gratitude to the 
divine Author of our being is satisfied, is to perfect 
this universal love, to harmonise and attune the soul 
to its accents, and extend its influence over the whole 
human race. 

The great aim of religion being thus defined, what 
ideas must a rational man entertain of the bigoted, 
persecuting, uncharitable, sectaries, that disgrace that 
noble principle, by assuming its sacred name and au- 
thority ? Rather than esteem them as having perfected 
and exalted the human condition above its natural stan- 
dard, he must reflect on them as degrading it to a level 
with the brute creation, whose proper province it is 
to ravage and destroy. 

Were it, indeed, the business of religion to generate no- 
thing but malice and cruelty, it would be a hopeful assist- 
ant to human weakness. The common abuse and misap- 
plication of the passions, when men are not incited by 
external and adventitious causes to animosity and strife, 
are sufficiently destructive of peace and harmony, with- 
out adding fuel to flame. The sum of religion being 
comprised in gratitude to God, and love to mau^ it 
can never be the will of the Deity, that the latter di- 
vision of it should be given up to shew a zeal for the 



Chap, iv.] 37 

former : nor can it be supposed that he created, in or- 
der that man might persecute and destroy the work of 
his hands. Yet, absurd as this picture of religious 
zealots may appear, it is an exact caricature of the 
pious murderers who have enlisted under the banner of 
religion. 

Modes of faith, and exterior forms of worship, are 
but the connexions and bands by which religion is com- 
pacted, and the frame or outward shell in which the 
more sacred and essential part is deposited ; an acci- 
dental ornament, but no necessary and indispensable 
adjunct. He, therefore, that pleads the cause of ex- 
ternals as equally a duty with the pure and simple parts 
of worship, sets up the shadow in competition with 
the substance, and dishonors the cause he professes to 
serve. Religion receives no sanction from rites, but 
rites are consecrated by religion, which are no farther 
proper than they contribute to its advancement. To 
suppose that the Deity requires as indispensable, and 
regards as important, what in the bare eye of reason, 
and to a moderate share of understanding, appears 
trivial and idle, is derogatory from his wisdom, and a 
far greater affront to his glory, than to banish for ever 
every species of ceremony from his worship. But to 
persecute and torment others on these accounts ; to 
imprison and slay, to hate and detest, our fellow-crea- 
tures, for not adopting the same precise form of words 
in their oaths of fidelity and expressions of homage 
to their great Superior; and to shelter our cruelty 
under the sanction of his sacred will : is treason against 



38 [Chap. iv. 

his divine nature and undesigned blasphemy. The 
great object of our adoration is but one, and every 
form in which he beholds his worshipper is accepted, 
when sanctified by purity of intention and an upright 
heart. # 

As it is the characteristic of superstition to set up the 
pageantry of religion in opposition to the essence, it 
may, with a degree of propriety, be termed idola- 
try. Wherein can be the difference, whether we 
worship and adore images, which are the works of our 
hands, or idolise and doat on the inventions of our 
brain P If gratitude to himself, and love to one an- 
other, be all the Deity requires at our hands, to re- 
move those virtues, in order to give place to our own 
fond conceits, is actual idolatry. 

If we examine into the characters of bigots in ge- 
neral, far from finding them to be persons of greater 
virtues than others, we can see in them nothing that is 
amiable and laudable. Than these exists not a more 
disagreeable and odious tribe ; and in such a soil gene- 
rally flourish the more ignoble passions, whose growth, 

* Quin damns id superis, de magna quod dare lance 
Non possit magni Messallac lippa propago ; 
Conpositum jus fasque animi, sanctosque recessus 
Mentis, et incoctum generoso pectus honesto ? 
Hsec cedo ut admoveam templis, et fane litabo. 

Persius, sat. ii, 

Animadverto enim etiam deos ipsos non tarn accuratis adoran- 
tiurn precibus, quam innocentia et sanctitate, laetari ; gratiorem- 
que existimari qui delubris eorum puram castamque mentem, quam 
qui meditatum carmen, intulerit, Plhi. pancg. 



Chap. iv.~] 39 

with respect to our neighbours, by virtue's laws, de- 
mand to be curbed, and not encouraged. It is ob- 
servable that these animals are, some ill-natured, others 
covetous, others suspicious, others revengeful, others 
envious and spiteful, and all obstinate and perverse, 
rigid and unyielding. But prejudice is blind : could 
it but see truth and propriety, view things in their ge- 
nuine colors, and discover its own deformity, it would 
be no longer prejudice. # 

It is not enough for the heated zealot that he alone 
enjoys his peculiar notions and customs : his fury hur- 
ries him farther, and he discards the virtues of religion, 
meekness, charity, and universal love, which are the 
sweetest incense man can offer at the altar, to make 
room for the apish quackery of superstition. He is 
not content alone to fall prostrate before the idol him- 
self has set up, but he must compel others to partake 
ill his idolatry. 

The numerous evils distempered zeal has given birth 
to in the world, at many different periods of time, are 
not unknown to any one the least conversant in history. 
They piously murdered, and piously tortured, the meek 
and conscientious professors of harmless opinions. It 
was for the glory of God that Calvin plotted the death 
of Castalio, because he dissented from his ridiculous 
absurdities ; and for the glory of God the persecuting 

* Nihil enim in speciem fallacius est quarn prava religio. Ubi 
deorum numen praetenditur sceleribus, subit aniinos timer, ne, 
fraudibus humanis vindicandis, divini juris aliquid immi>tum vio 
learns, Cons* ap. Liv, dec. 4. 



40 [Chap. iv. 

Catholics spread ravage and desolation among the no- 
blest of his works, the upright and innocent, whose 
meekness would not even suffer them to make a just 
resistance to their unfeeling tormentors. 

The subject of these complaints is not become stale, 
if we want recent instances of religious barbaritv, we 
need but give a glance at some neighbouring kingdoms, 
to see it in all its blackness. Poland presents us with 
a scene of inexpressible confusion : natives of the king- 
dom, undutiful and rebellious children, tearing up the 
bowels of their mother country ; and their unhappy 
sovereign, unable to heal these divisions, ready to fly 
for protection to a neighbouring kingdom. In Spain 
and Portugal we have been in our times entertained 
with the cruelties of an Inquisition ; and the cloven 
tongues of the Holy Ghost have been impiously coun- 
leneitea by flames of real fire. 

Supposing we were to grant that religion allowed 
severity to compel men to come in, provided they could 
thereby effect their purpose of making converts ; yet it 
is not to be imagined that those who have withstood all 
the artillery of their arguments can be moved by an 
exertion of their rage and malice. Such a carriage to 
their disciples could only be productive of hypocrisy 
and insincerity. The opinions of a man are not under 
his control : he cannot change them as a chameleon 
changes his skin. What is not in his power, he can 
never be accountable for; and bare professions are of 
no weight or value. We may add to these reasons the 
perverseness of party spirit, which is only increased by 
the attempts of compulsion* 



Chap. iv.~] 41 

There are, on the contrary, advocates for ceremony 
as a subordinate part of religion ; as a form in which 
it should be seen and known ; as proper to entice 
and assemble such for its votaries as would not other- 
wise, through slowness of apprehension, have disco- 
vered its residence ; and as conducing to confirm the 
minds of those who are enlisted in its service. With 
them I readily concur. The undiscerning minds of 
the vulgar are not sufficiently refined to relish the sen- 
timental and pure dictates of religion without exter- 
nals : something striking and visible must be adopted, 
which is brought down on a level with their capacities. 
What they do not comprehend can never please them * 
and what does not please them will not usurp their 
attention. But force must not be allowed a share in 
our schemes, any more than the laws require in the 
administration of justice. 

Externals then, with persons of judgement, are to 
be considered only as instruments or assistants of reli- 
gion, not as actually a constituent part of it. Under 
that view they are tolerable, useful, and in some cases 
necessary. But as punctilios in our behaviour one to- 
wards another, mere compliments of politeness, are 
not honored with the name of friendship, so neither 
are ceremonies in religion dignified with the appella- 
tion of religion; but they should be used or neglected, 
curtailed or increased, as the caprice of mankind and 
the situation of a people are judged to require. 

I have been the more particular in reflexions thai 
must be obvious to any person of sense, on account of 



42 [Chap. iv. 

the great prevalence of religious prejudice and animo- 
sity amongst some men of genius and learning, who 
have, to the disgrace of both religion and learning, 
espoused the cause of persecution, vainly supposing, 
diat, while they were the authors of misery and death 
to those of a different opinion, they were laying the 
foundation of life and felicity for themselves. And 
however often such remarks have been echoed by 
different writers, the dignity of the subject claims all 
the attention that has been paid to it, as a point of 
moment in the manners of a nation. It is true, actual 
persecution by fire and sword is not in fashion in our 
happy country ; but the seeds of it still remain in the 
breast of many a bigot, and need only the fostering 
care of public encouragement to bring them to matu- 
rity. Secret hatred, private malice, is still rankling at 
the heart, and ready to spread its venom where want 
of opportunity now denies it access. Want of oppor- 
tunity to exercise vice, when the intention is not want- 
ed, is not to be pleaded in excuse. If the intention of 
a man is set on mischief, he has already virtually in- 
curred that guilt which external circumstances alone 
prevented. Could we view his heart, we should dis- 
cover in it the hideous train of forms, slaughter and 
bloodshed, stripes and tortures, # pictured in their pro- 
per colors, and threatening to break out of their con- 

* Neque frustra praestantissimus sapiential [Plato, de repub.] 
firmare solitus est : si recludantur tyrannorum mentes, posse as- 
pici laniatus et ictus ; quando ut corpora verberibus, ita saevitia, 
libidine, malis consultis, animus dilaceretur. Tacit.' AutmL U 6. 



Chap, iv.] 43 

finement, as did the evils from Pandora's box, to an™ 
noy mankind. 

With double care ought every attempt to introduce 
the Romish religion among us to be opposed. To 
stop their progress, it were even justifiable, as it would 
be for the good of mankind, to use a reasonable seve- 
rity to those who should dare to propagate their no- 
tions, as they are to be considered in some respects as 
criminals. The treatment they unjustly shew to per- 
sons of a different communion might, with propriety, 
be retorted on them. 

From the late dispersion of the Jesuits over Europe, 
alarms were raised in the minds of several, and fears 
that their endeavours and insinuations would meet with 
success : but let us hope, for the honor of our nation, 
that their tenets have too odious an appearance ever to 
gain proselytes among us. And if they are seen in 
their native and genuine characters, they certainly must 
make that odious appearance, as they not only perse- 
cute in order to favor their advances, but teach their 
disciples to do the same, as a tenet of their religion. 



44 [Chap. v. 



CHAPTER V. 



On Deistical Publications. 



It is requisite that the mad multitude be restrained by the rear 
of the gods. Flows. 

For scant of' reason tempts the wat'riog mind. 

Lucrct. 



Tn ouch I all along* profess myself a friend to free- 
dom in opinions, I yet am led to think there are certain 
instances of discovering that freedom, which may be of 
dangerous tendency when they come under the notice 
of weak, unsettled, minds. A caution of this kind 
may not improperly be recommended to those writers 
who have taken upon them the task of examining and 
exploding the established religion of their country. 

That a man is entitled to the privilege of thinking 
and examining for himself, before he gives his assent to 
any point in debate, is indisputable, and none but a 



Chap v.] 45 

bigot would go about to deny it. It is not only no 
crime, but the duty of a reasonable being, to exercise 
the talent he has received, and improve his understand- 
ing; and if his own reflexion informs him that what is 
palmed on him as a divine truth gives the lie to his 
reason, he must be weak indeed to slight what ought 
to be his strongest conviction. The most strenuous 
advocates for the wildest scheme of doctrine that ever 
was formed have some recourse to reason as the con- 
ductor to the points they have undertaken to support, 
and appeal to it as the higher tribunal. We have all 
imaginable cause, then, to consult this guide, and not 
the shadow of a plea why we are to reject its remon- 
strances. The medicine is avowedly good; but it is 
best in the hands of a skilful physician. 

Supposing it even a misfortune to entertain notions 
repugnant to established doctrines, (as I have already 
observed,) that can never be imputed as a crime 
which is not in our power. The opinions of a man 
are not of his own making, any more than the face he 
bears about him. They are accidents arising from the 
circumstances he is beset with, which irresistibly com- 
pel his assent. To suppose that the Deity can be of- 
fended with what he cannot help, is to attribute to bin, 
a weakness and injustice which would be a blot in the 
character of a man. I will allow* our deists ihe full 
extent of this argument: I will make them every con- 
cession of this kind they can desire. They have a li- 
cense from the dictates of common s$i*se to think for 
themselves: but it does not follow, that they should 



46 [Chap. v. 

propagate such opinions as would only tend to disturb 
the repose of a nation. 

The enemies of the Christian faith are particularly 
to blame, as it is a profession tending to promote no- 
thing but virtue and goodness, when perfectly under- 
stood, and received in its genuine spirit and meaning. 
The precepts of it recommend meekness, virtue, and 
universal benevolence, which are the soul of religion, 
as the most important duties required of its professors, 
and not as subordinate and trivial qualifications; in 
opposition to graceless and persecuting zealots : and if 
there are litigated points among its different sectaries, 
they are such as affect not morality, and had their rise 
in the blindness and obstinacy of mankind. 

The troubles attending a change in religion, grant- 
ing it in the power of deists to prove Christianity false, 
are not desirable objects of a nation's wishes : and 
sure I am, no better substitute could be composed, to 
humanise and correct mankind. Were Christianity re- 
plete with exhortations to hate and persecute for opi- 
nions ; to treat those that dissent from its doctrines 
with severity and malice ; or even not highly recom- 
mendatory of virtue, and a foe to vice ; it would be in- 
cumbent on every one with all his might to oppose its 
progress in the world. But no such charge can be 
brought against the most virtuous system of religion 
that ever was compiled ; a religion whose precepts al- 
low not even a competition between the life and virtue 
of its professors, but command to lose our existence 
rather than desert tlie cause for which we exist. 



Chap, v.] 47 

I have elsewhere observed, that the minds of the ig- 
norant are not sufficiently refined to relish a merely 
sentimental religion. Deism is by much too simple to 
captivate their ideas. A form of religion is found ne- 
cessary, containing promises and threatenings in a par- 
ticular manner expressed, rewards and punishments in 
peculiar form denounced, and even ceremonies, reli- 
gion's apes, # as a part of the system recommended to 
their observance. On this account, not unwisely, did 
Origen assert the propriety of preaching eternal pu- 
nishment for the wicked, though such a doctrine, in his 
opinion, arraigned the justice of the Deity. None but 
a delicate mind, he was sensible, could be capable of 
delicate notions. The lower order of people, whose 
reason is a lamer guide to them than their passions, 1 
as being rude and unrefined, are more to be influenced 
by hopes and fears excited by the apprehensions of di- 
vine and human justice, than charmed with the beauty 
and propriety of virtue. And this notion is reinforced 
by a precedent set by Nature herself, who has not cho- 
sen to entrust the care of a new-born babe to the com- 
mon humanity and reason of its parent, but has im- 
planted a passion extraordinary to secure its preserva- 

* Nulla res cfficacius multitudinem regit quam superstitio : alio 
fjuin irapoteus, sseva, mutabilis, melius vatibus quam ducibus suis 
paret. Q. Curt. I 4. 

t Quantunque debil freno a mezo il corso 
Animoso destrier spesso raccolga, 
Raro e pero che di ragione il morso 
JLibidinota furia adietro Volga. Ariosio, 



48 [Chap. v. 

tion ; and even, with seeming cruelty, animated that 
passion by the pangs and throes of labor. # 

Together with the abolition of an established form, 
would follow the extinction of religion in general, in 
a great degree. When unruly tempers are once set 
free, they know no bounds to their career : 



Ask where's the north ? At York 'tis on the Tweed, 

In Scotland at the Orcades, and there 

At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where. 

If men are told that this or that is a mere human in- 
vention, and of no intrinsic value, they are too prone to 
regard the whole scheme of morality as an imposition. 
It is not safe to leave the formation of religion to the 
vulgar, who would make it square with their inclinati- 
ons, instead of correcting themselves by its precepts, 
and by these means the bridle would be taken away 
from every unruly affection. A mistaken freedom, 
contracted from a misconstruction of natural religion, 
would probably introduce amongst them a contempt 
for virtue itself. Like the dove, when they forsake the 
ark, they have no resting-place for the sole of their 
4oot. But men are not so abandoned, not even the vi- 
ciously inclined, as readily to run counter to what they 



* Eri £e ta STsriTroVa;? yzvofxtva Travrsc ^uaXXev rtfrb'nv, c ow xai ret yj^txertf, 
hi XTTi<ra ( wevoi twv Tra^ccXaSovrav. Aoxet &u to ( otcv jv itzf/iw awm etyett, to 

%a yup c n yzna-ic. Ar'istQt. Eth. i.r. 



Chap.v.~\ 49 

esteem a command of heaven. Religious injunctions 
may sometimes bind, even against inclination. 

It is worthy of observation, too, that the ignorant 
confound deism with atheism : they know no distinction 
between them. An author who takes up his pen to 
write against Christianity is vulgarly supposed to es- 
pouse the cause of atheism, and to renounce all obli- 
gations whatever. That this is a fact, a little observa- 
tion will evince : and that it must be an unfortunate 
circumstance with weak minds, will be readily allowed. 

Men have been in all ages alarmed with the cry of 
priestcraft, and warned to be cautious how they are 
bubbled out of their reason and senses : in conse- 
quence, when they find that writers of learning and 
abilities have endeavoured to fix this charge on the 
professors of Christianity, they are ready enough to 
apply the caution that has been, time immemorial, 
dinned into their ears. That the clergy take the part 
of the established confession, is construed only as an 
exercise of their trade, as a defence of what yields 
first-fruits for themselves and families, and supplies the 
comforts of life. Their sincerity and learning are sup- 
posed to be enlisted in this cause., and of no avail to the 
promotion of truth and the declaration of their real 
opinions. But the writings of deists, they are led to 
think, can have no such imputation laid to their charge, 
as they have no benefices to fight for, and no apparent 
views to serve but the defence of their real sentiments 
Hence the friends of deism have a pass on Christian 
writers, supposing their causes equally defensible 

R 



30 [Chap. v. 

The greater half of mankind, we all know, are bi- 
assed in their judgements by the opinions of others, 
whom they esteem wiser than themselves : they are 
particularly allured by the glare of what is bold and 
striking ; and charmed with novelty, above all things. 
Inducements like these, seasoned with proclama- 
tions of liberty, particularly to Englishmen, are too 
strong to suffer resistance. Liberty is a word of such 
an enchanting sound, that, in defence of it, they will 
forfeit every other blessing, and break through the most 
sacred ties. They will pay their adoration to any dei- 
ty that promises them liberty. The most intoxicating 
potion of the most deadly liquid is deified and adored, 
because it affords them a temporary liberty, and can 
boast inspiring qualities which were not to be found in 
the river-gods of old. 

My love for candor will not allow me to think the 
writers I have been here censuring were influenced by 
motives to endeavour after the corruption of a people, 
as has been charged to them by some over zealous de- 
fenders of Christianity. They were doubtless wrought 
on by a conviction which they supposed to proceed 
from the fountain of truth itself, and which they were 
willing to communicate to the rest of the world, that 
they might also share in the blessings they fondly ima- 
gined they had discovered. .... A humor this, resembling 
that of the Lydian king, Candaules, who was so smitten 
-with the hidden beauties of his royal consort, that he was 
tempted to expose her to his confident, Gyges, in the 
pure state ©f nature, that he also might see her heaven 



Chap. v.~] 51 

of charms, and be a witness of his happiness. •••• The 
event of either conduct is of fatal consequence. The 
folly of the Lydian monarch cost him his life, by the 
revenge of his queen, and fixed his crown on the head 
of the conscious friend. The unadvised freedom of 
the deist, by his fondness for communicating his bles- 
sings, lets loose the people and disturbs the state. 



52 [Chap, vL 



CHAPTER VI. 



On Politeness. 



Let adulation, the assistant of vice, be banished : it is unworthy 
of a friend, and even of a freeman. Cicero. 



Animadversions on real and pretended religion, 
by a resemblance between the two principles, naturally 
lead to reflexions on real and pretended friendship. In 
considering the observations I had made on the one, I 
was insensibly drawn to reflect on the other ; as cere- 
monies in either, with many people, are prized and 
adopted as the essence of those noble principles them- 
selves, to the great detriment and disgrace of the amia- 
ble causes they were invented to serve. 

If a true idea of politeness had been generally enter- 
tained, ceremony had never so universally usurped the 
plaqe of friendship as it has been unfortunately found 



Chap, vi.] 53 

to do. Had the world been sufficiently aware that it is 
no farther of use than as it is subservient to rendering 
society agreeable, the superfluities of it had been long 
ago discarded. 

There is a season for all things, according to the old 
proverb. The time when formal politeness is tolera- 
ble, is at the first contractions of friendship : after 
which, it is to be considered only as a burdensome em- 
bargo. When perfect strangers are joined, by acci- 
dent, in company together, intemperate freedom is im- 
proper ; and some little ceremony is required to keep 
the different parties in countenance. In such cases, a 
moderate share of it will be found not only not trouble- 
some but even desirable. 

But ceremony is not confined within these restricti- 
ons. It is an universal complaint, urged against the 
formal visits of acquaintance, that freedom is denied 
the visitants on each side : they are unhappy under the 
constraint of behaviour which the mode of politeness 
imposes on them, and, regarding such interviews as a 
mere debt, express their satisfaction at the expiration 
of their thraldom. One might have supposed that the 
natural evils of life had been sufficient, without the in- 
vention of artificial plagues ; but the world, it may be 
presumed, has been generally of a different opinion, and 
therefore set up ceremony as a tax on friendship. 

The misfortune, which principally causes this com- 
plaint, is, that neither party is hardy enough to set the 
laudable example of freedom. One will not be rude, 
and another will not be rude, and by these means a 



54 [Chap. df. 

general inconvenience is kept up, to the torment of all 
parties : whereas repeated experience daily proves, that 
the first advances to freedom are always commended 
by the opposite party which receives them, and con- 
strued as the effects of good-nature and an obliging 
disposition. They that throw off reserve ever meet with 
applause ; and yet (such is human perverseness !) cere- 
mony is still the model of good-breeding. 

If politeness be a method of rendering the mutual 
communications of friendship agreeable, which is the 
only interpretation it can bear, when it assumes a form 
that is displeasing to our friend, it becomes, in the strict- 
est sense, want of good-breeding, instead of a mark of 
it. Wherein can be the difference, whether my friend 
affronts me by a box on the ear, or by an insufferable 
load of formalities, if my visit to him is rendered 
equally disagreeable by either conduct P In some cases, 
I believe, the box on the ear would be the more desi- 
rable compliment of the two, as it would be the 
fairest plea for a dismission from purgatory. 

Pride is one of the strongest enemies to true friend- 
ship, and ceremony is always the forerunner of pride. 
Ceremonies are, as it were, the pages of honor to 
pride, and help to keep up that state which the proud 
man is not willing should be infringed by the freedom 
of an inferior. Every instance of ceremony is regard- 
ed as a token of pride which commands a return of 
reserve, and consequently must prove prejudicial to 
friendship. The proudest men, it is a constant remark, 
.are ever the most observant of punctilios in behaviour. 



Chap. viJ] 55 

To the credit of freedom, it may be observed that 
the higher ranks of people are less ceremonious in 
private than the middle class in life, amongst whom 
ceremony is now principally assumed, as the cast-off 
clothes of the great. A citizen and his wife frequent- 
ly display more airs, and require more homage from their 
inferiors and dependants, than those who can boast no- 
ble blood. Their inferiority is the very cause of this. 
What they want in dignity, they are desirous of making 
up in parade. The rank of a nobleman commands re- 
spect, without any pains of his to create it ; whilst the 
condition of a tradesman requires labor to produce it. 
In the one instance, the respect that is paid is genuine 
and natural ; in the other, it is feigned and labored. 

It must be allowed, notwithstanding, that ceremony 
appears to be on the decline. The charge brought 
against it might have been urged some time since with 
still greater propriety than at present. However, there 
is yet too much formality observed for a free and open 
hearted man to submit to. Real friendship needs not 
its assistance, and when it is only pretended there is 
nothing but hypocrisy ; which is odious to an ingenuous 
mind. 

It may be observed, to the advantage of our neigh- 
bours, the French, that notwithstanding their rage for 
compliment, they are sooner acquainted, and have more 
ease in their manner, than the natives of our country,. 
They have an agreeable impudence (not in all instan- 
ces approved by the modesty of English ladies) which 



5t> [Chap, vi 

soon puts constraint to flight; and it were to be wished 
a due share of it enlivened our English conversation. 

The best receipt to promote freedom in those we 
converse with, is to set the example of it ourselves ; 
which seldom fails of the desired effect. The world 
are naturally fond of freedom, however they have com- 
bined to banish it from society. It is at best consi- 
dered but as a lesson to learn, and as a task to submit 
to, to conform to all the rules of precision which cus- 
tom seems to have exacted : but men are content to 
run the gantlet, rather than in the eyes of the ceremo- 
nious approve themselves savages, as they would other- 
wise be termed by the critics of behaviour. 

Reserve has its season, without appearing where it is 
not agreeable. There are, on the other hand, ex- 
amples of freedom, at which the most intimate friends 
may conceive disgust, and which are sometimes shewn, 
to the confusion even of familiars. Under the mask 
of friendship, impertinent curiosity and familiarity are 
sometimes indulged to excess. One friend, it is pre- 
sumed, cannot be offended at any liberty taken by 
another : he may pry into secrets, give impertinent ad- 
vice almost in the form of a command, unasked, and 
take a disapprobation of his advice amiss : which is a 
humor that has its examples. In instances of this 
kind, friends are as much under obligations of proprie- 
ty and reserve as the greatest stranger. Be it observed, 
even superfluous ceremony itself is to be discarded 
only on account of the trouble it creates between man 



Chap, vi.] 57 

and man : by parity of reason, no freedoms should be 
taken which are equally a burden ; one man should not 
affront another with the impertinence of freedom, any 
more than with the formalities of compliment. 

Real politeness, politeness which deserves that appel- 
lation, being an inferior branch of humanity, merits 
great encomiums : but no behaviour whatever ought to 
be dignified with that name which is calculated only to 
give pain and trouble. The rules of it are easily un- 
derstood, as being very simple and natural. What for- 
malities we do not relish ourselves, we have no right to 
suppose will be agreeable to our friend ; and what im- 
pertinences we disapprove in others, we ourselves should 
never be guilty of. This general rule, which is also 
the great standard of all moral justice, can seldom fail 
of pleasing when it is strictly observed. 

In a word, politeness is the utmost ease in our own 
deportment, and an endeavour to promote it in others, 
by equally shunning the rude and forbidding salutes 
of a surly brute, the cold and uninviting indifference of 
a careless friend, and the insufferable chatter of a mere 
compliment -monger. Thus defined, it is the most 
agreeable invention that can be imagined, and should 
on no account be slighted, as the happiness of those 
we are connected with is in some measure concerned 
therein ; and, in such a form, it will be neither a task 
to shew it, nor a pain to suffer it : the school for it will 
be our own experience and inclination, and the pre- 
cepts of it legible to the most cursory observation. 



58 [Chap. vii. 



CHAPTER VII. 

On War. 



Peace dwell with man ; and brutes alone contend. 

Ovid. 



It is matter of much surprise, that after all the les- 
sons of morality to inculcate justice and a virtuous de- 
portment between individuals ; after all the execra- 
tions, with general consent, denounced against those 
that infringe and violate the social compact by which 
harmony reigns among men ; after the strictest penal- 
ties enacted against crimes, from murder down to the 
most trifling instances of fraud ; so little concern should 
have been in all ages expressed for the greatest exam- 
ple of violation, by the wantonness of War, that can 
sully the human character. 

A robber (as the pirate Dionides well observed to 
Alexander, a greater offender than himself,) who alone, 
or, at most, with a few associates, attacks a single 



Chap, vii.] 59 

traveller and plunders him, is stigmatised with the most 
odious names language can furnish, is treated with all 
the seventy law can inflict, and at last pays his life, 
as the most valuable forfeit he is in a condition to 
make, for his crime : but an ambitious prince, whose 
wants are supplied even before they arise, who has no 
hunger to satisfy, and no apprehensions of indigence to 
disturb his repose, may, because encircled with a dia- 
dem, legally slaughter armies of thousands, make wi- 
dows of wives, and orphans of children, and render 
countries, before happy and flourishing, the seats of 
desolation and the burying-places of those who were 
born to cultivate and enjoy them : and (as if rewards 
were due to crimes) he is for this applauded with the 
acclamations of a multitude, as a glorious conqueror, 

and an ornament to human nature. Nefarious, 

though sanctified, enemy of mankind ! detested, though 
enthroned, destroyer ! 

The brute creation, even the fiercest among them, 
express a tenderness for those of their own species;* 
but man, adorned with reason, enabled to distinguish 
virtue and vice, softened by nature, and fitted to re- 
ceive the tender impressions of compassion, (a privi- 
lege denied to brutes,) forgetting the excellence of his 
character, drinks the blood of man, and sacrifices the 
actual lives of his fellow-creatures, to procure himself 
a mean, because unmerited, honor, whilst alive, and 

* Indica tigris agit rabida cum tigride pacem 
Perpetuam: saevis inter se convenit ursis. 

Juven, sat. xv. 



60 [Chap. vii. 

an imaginary life after death. But none but the spirit 
of a destroyer can venerate the actions of a destroyer : 
if these licensed murderers ever receive their laurels, it 
is from hands of which modest virtue would not con- 
sent to accept them. 

When the tyger ranges over the woods to seek his 
prey, he has hunger for his apology, and, as if to 
shame the human species, abstains from the blood of 
tygers : want impels him, and he pursues the only 
course his situation presents for his relief: nature bids 
him devour, and he obeys. His hunger satisfied, he 
lays him by, nor repeats his slaughter, till commanded 
by a second summons from within, which is his only 

conscience. Ye ruthless sons of ambition, have 

you so fair a plea for your cruelties t can you plead 
hunger and ignorance, nature and necessity, in defence 
of your crimes i Were ye as obedient to Nature as 
he, # did ye as kindly receive the tender feelings she 
imparts to your species, instead of staining your hands 
with the blood of your fellow-creatures, you would 
bathe their wounds with your tears, and heal them with 
the balm of compassion ! 

The most unfeeling and inconsiderate of these heroes 
would, without hesitation, condemn a murderer when 
brought before him, and subscribe his execution ; but 

* 'Oufoi? c o<rriQ an aw^ayfxona-TB^ raov Gwv E^ofg pot ra a*0{dMrfttf, 
fxovais raiq <j>u«xa*j EGrtivfJuais k) xgeuti? EfXfABfAsr^uEv^ rehuvw bf 'varum, 
y) o-uxotyavrriv @a.TPct,yov, n o-QtyMTW koXolov, n 'o^owowv xwvoo'srct, ri tuvai&ev aXm- 
Tgvwa, *) r'aKha. ( c<ra 'vftsi; ZWrnfovBTB, tot av fioig sv exe;v«c. 

Lncian. [Gallus loquitur.] 



Chap, vii.] 61 

(such is the blind partiality of men in their own 
favor!) would never once reflect, that in this action of 
justice a great murderer was signing the doom of a lit- 
tle one, and that the criminal at the bar was far more 
innocent than the judge who condemned him. We 
may ask, is murder less murder because committed 
by wholesale ? Is it a crime to kill one man, and a 
virtue to slaughter thousands ? Are hunger and want, 
anger and resentment, detestable motives to a cruel 
deed ; and is vanity, the emptiest of all passions, the 
most unreasonable of all impulses, a sufficient, a just, 
and an honorable, motive ? 

Ambition, it will be said, is noble, and the criterion 
of a great mind. Most true, it is a mark of greatness 
when under the discipline of reason and direction of 
justice : ambition, with principle, is a noble passion. 
But the ambition of a professed warrior, whose glory 
is measured only by the length of his sword, is infer- 
nal ; and every aspirer after universal monarchy, from 
Alexander down to Louis XIV. is a glorious murderer, 
an eminent robber, and a pestilence in the human 
shape. 

Must, then, ambition have no object ? my hero will 
say: has Nature inspired in vain? — No: if ever the 
perverseness of the enemy will force him to the field, 
then there is a laudable occasion for courage and intre- 
pidity : the hero then is not a destroyer, but a defender of 
his country ; he is not a murderer, but a subduer and 
punisher of murderers : the odium devolves on his ad- 
versary, and at his hands should the lives of the slain 



62 Chap. vii.~] 

be required. But even under these circumstances he 
is not exempt from discretional obligations of huma- 
nity. Blood ought not wantonly to be spilt, nor lives 
to be sported away for the victor's pleasure. The in- 
nocent hirelings of ambition should be reserved, as far 
as is consistent with safety, to grace the triumphal car 
of the conqueror, without taking away that breath 
which might afterwards proclaim his compassion. 

If there be no enemy abroad to conquer, and his 
breast still burns with ardent thirst for glory, I will 
tell him a nobler conquest at home, a victory without 
bloodshed. Let him plume himself on the victory 
over his lawless and unreasonable affections, regard 
unjust ambition as his greatest foe, as the disturber of 
the common repose and his own felicity, and triumph 
over it. Such a conquest is real glory, and commands 
the applauses due to virtue : no remorse can follow 
it ; no reflection of mind can embitter it. He has sub- 
dued an enemy within. 

War is only lawful as far as it is the instrument of 
peace, as a moralist of Rome observes, * a city that 
too much delighted in its ravages. When undertaken 
with that view, so far from being a violation, it is a 
duty we owe our country, which has a right to expect 
protection from her members, and cannot find it but 
among the sons of her bosom. Every step, therefore, 
pursued to bring back peace that is fled, is a filial act, 
and the revenge that is taken on the aggressor is but 

* Bellum autem ita suscipiatur, ut nihil aliud nisi pax quaesjta 
videatur, Cic. Off, U 



Chap. vii^\ 63 

the scourge of justice lifted up against the enemy that 
chased her away. It is sickly puritanism, unworthy a 
liberal mind, to think that one nation ought tamely to 
submit to the repeated insults and injuries of its neigh- 
bour, without endeavouring to redress the grievance ; 
as that would be only removing the evil to a less pro- 
per situation, and making the innocent suffer for the 
guilty. Chastisement is required by the laws of policy. 
As well might we forbid the punishment of a criminal 
who has violated the laws, as withhold the execution 
of justice on an offending nation. 

I would not be thought in the least to reflect on the 
profession of a soldier : they are the honorable and 
choseii bulwark of their country \ and their courage (at 
all times an excellence, as well as a nursery for the 
bolder and hardier virtues) is with peculiar propriety 
exerted on occasion of the necessities of state. Risque 
of life is the dearest tribute a subject can pay. 

Wars of ambition, denounced for no other cause 
than a thirst for rule, or at most for a punctilio of ho- 
nor affronted only in imagination, are what alone merit 
our abhorrence as contrary to reason, to the general 
interests of society, and to humanity. As war com- 
prises in itself and its consequences all the natural 
evils of life, he that is deliberately and without neces- 
sity the author of it is justly to be considered as the 
greatest moral offender. It is the duty of every power 
to combine against such a common disturber, by be- 
coming guarantee of general peace. The monarch 
who thus espoused the cause of justice would be an 



64 [Chap. vii. 

ornament to his throne, and merit the diadem that for- 
tune has given him. 

Before I quit this subject, I cannot forbear a nati- 
onal reflexion on our rival, France ; a kingdom ever 
restless and troublesome to the repose of its neigh- 
bours ; which, instead of enriching its subjects by con- 
fining its attention to interior policy, to manufactures, and 
to agriculture, the gift of heaven and a happy climate, 
(which fire the only real sources of wealth,) is taken up 
with the view of external acquisitions, purchased, if 
purchased at all, at the dear price of rivers of blood. 

With France, even the ratifications of the most so- 
lemn treaties of peace have served as preludes and pre- 
parations to some future more successful war : and 
when the successes of their arms have not kept pace 
with their eager wishes, (which has frequently proved 
their merited recompense,) the courts of foreign princes 
have been secretly embroiled by their intrigues. 

To the ambitious designs of this nation every state 
in Europe has, in its turn, been exposed. Even the 
generous inhabitants of a little island, who possess the 
smallest pittance the most penurious Agrarian Law 
would have bestowed on so deserving a people, cannot 
escape their avaricious and turbulent attempts to en- 
slave them, and bow their necks to a yoke which no- 
thing but a voluntary submission has a right to impose. 
A double portion of the liturgic curse is due to such 
notorious and wholesale removers of a neighbours land- 
mark; such infringers of the inherent rights of mankind; 
rights coeval with nature, the enjoyment of liberty and 
Jaws of their own enaction. 



Chap, viii.] f jo 



CHAPTER VIII. 



On Theatrical Humor, 



Justice forbids violation; and modesty, offence. Herein con 
>sists decorum. Cicero. 



Affectation of every kind is odious and insuffer- 
able ; and an ape is, as Locke observes, more disliked 
because he approaches the shape and look of what he 
is not : namely, of a man. Mock-religion, respecting 
mere externals, and mock-friendship, as comprising on- 
ly the ceremonies of that noble principle, have already 
been censured, as the shadows and phantoms of what 
they would pass for; and, as the temper of the age 
seems to call for it, it may not be amiss to hazard a 
few remarks on mock-delicacy, another ape in a form 
it has no pretentions to assume. 

F 



68 [Chap. viii. 

Lest I should be misconstrued in my sentiments, I 
will premise it as my opinion of real delicacy, that it 
is an elegant refinement ; that it is even a branch of 
virtue, a petite morale, which does honor to the cha- 
racter of a man ; that it distinguishes him from a 
brute, and raises him above the level of human brutes, 
the gross and senseless rabble, a set as far beneath the 
brute creation in merit, as they are above them in op- 
portunities of improvement. 

Delicacy is a principal ingredient in the composition 
of that being we style a gentleman, which is, when 
well defined and well understood, the highest charac- 
ter in life ; as in the real gentleman are included, the 
duties of virtue, the niceties of honor, and the orna- 
ments of sentiment. A man may be honest, he may 
be just, he may be virtuous, and yet, with those valu- 
able qualities, for want of delicacy, be regarded as of 
common mould. Great encomiums are unquestion- 
ably due to this principle, when genuine ; and as great 
censure ought to be passed on the affectation of it ; 
particularly when those are the pretenders to it who 
have the least imaginable share in it. It is just that 
impostures of all kinds should meet the rebuke and 
punishment due to fraud. 

The affectation of delicacy I am about to introduce 
is of the theatric kind ; a chronical distemper, which 
spreads during the season for plays, to the destruction 
of wit, humor, and pleasantry: and the persons that 
generally first catcli the infection (may every stone they 
tread on become a rose !) are the innocent lambs in the 



Chap, viii.] 67 

upper galleries of the theatre, . whose taste and man- 
ners cannot endure the least approaches to vulgarity, as 
foreign to their natures. To exhibit a scene, or to use 
an expression, that is gross or low, in their presence, 
is cruel indeed ; as cruel as to utter unchaste expres- 
sions before a modest lady ; which, according to the 
common cant, no gentleman zcould be guilty of 

It is a pity that our nation, in general, not content 
with adopting the agreeable customs and real improve- 
ments of its neighbours, should likewise transplant their 
blemishes with them. I do not here intend a glance at 
caprices in dress, which have afforded much subject 
for satire ; for, with respect to that particular, I cannot 
entirely acquiesce in certain remarks those caprices have 
given birth to. # I now mean to attack the reigning 

* Real' beauty in dress is a point hard to be fixed. Beauty, in 
general, that beauty particularly which does not rest on mathema- 
tical proportion, must be chiefly resolved into fancy arising from 
custom. I have excepted mathematical proportion, as being of 
opinion that does really constitute beauty (I had almost said) even 
in the divine mind, and abstractedly from the prejudice of custom. 
Not a living soul would affirm that a trapezium is equally beauti- 
ful with a geometrical square, or a scalene with a right-angled tri- 
angle. To these we may join the abstract ideas of beauty and de- 
formity, which we should not transfer to the doctrine of dress or 
millinery. It is idle to say that the ladies of this age wear head- 
dresses too large, or to quarrel with their hats, except indeed 
when their position hides beauties no art can rival. What is 
fashionable is beautiful, at least in some degree. Custom rules 
incon-trolably in these matters ; else how is it possible even a Hot- 
tentot could annex the idea of agreeable to being smeared with fat 
and powdered with buchu? How could the uncouth head-dress of 
•i Henry IV. or the frightful coif of a Q. Anne Bullen, have been 



68 [Chap. viii. 

taste of aping the insipidity of the French, and ex- 
ploding real Jiumor from our English, stage : a circum- 
stance of consequence to the cause of literature. 

If we only represent zchat men should be, under the 
several refinements of taste and propriety, I cannot 
conceive the least pleasure or use resulting frcm plays ; 
(for the latter of these views is strenuously contended 
for by the advocates of the drama). lSo folly or vke 
is exploded x the end of comedy is defeated ; and true 
humor, which consists in exposing real character, is 
lost. It is true, we are to teach what men should be ; 
but it is also requisite that we represent zchat men are : 
by the one, we paint patterns for imitation; by the 
other, examples to be avoided. 

so admired as to have been chosen for ornaments to the head of 
Majesty? The idea of dignity once annexed to a person, even the 
dress of that person will derive a value from the wearer. Nay, so 
strong is the chain of ideas, that beauty of person, as well as of 
dress, are often fancied by a spectator where, prejudice apart, 
they would not have been thought to exist* Men's judgements 
are influenced by merely material objects more than they are 
aware : whence the useful variety of choices. And though it be 
allowed that such is the construction of man, as that the race in 
general should be prepared for, or rendered susceptible of, certain 
opinions; granting that there are some universal notions, (of co- 
lors, for instance,) in which men are agreed ; as that red, or blue, 
or green, are more pleasing than brown, or grey, or black ; yet 
ideas of beauty and dignity, of rank and ornament, are caprici- 
ously connected and separated by fashion and custom, and will 
not bear metaphysical precepts. • • But a truce with the philoso- 
phy of dress : as this is not the professed business of the chapter 
in hand, we will jaaake a halt, and intreat our reader's pardon for 
the digression. 



Chap. viii.~\ 69 

As I have already observed, I will never be so blind- 
ly prejudiced in favor of the theatre as to consider it 
as much contributing to reform vice, however great an 
advocate I am for it ; but it may with truth be affirmed, 
that it is greatly instrumental in banishing follies and 
improprieties. By excluding striking characters, then, 
it follows, that we actually cut off the view of utility 
proposed by dramatic writers, in one essential point at 
least. But if it must be granted, that vice is also cor- 
rected by a proper representation of it, there is an ad- 
ditional reason why high coloring for odious characters 
is indispensable. To satirise nothing is no satire ; to 
represent nothing is no representation. 

That plays should not be overcharged with scenes of 
low-life and brutality, will be readily granted. Too 
much of one thing, says the old proverb, is good for 
nothing. Neither should an endless repetition of the 
most amiable characters be served up to the public. 
Variety is to be consulted, as a principal recommenda- 
tion in all sorts of amusement. Let every species of 
character take its turn, and that variety will of course 
subsist. Pleasure and profit are both served by the 
help of variety : a sameness has no influential charm. 
More than this, I will even allow that the grosser cha- 
racters should be judiciously and sparingly interspersed ; 
but neither nature nor pleasure will countenance an 
utter exclusion of them. 

If my opponents will warmly maintain the cause of 
sentimental plays in the extreme, let them confine their 
taste to certain restrictions, and assign proper and dis- 



70 [Chap. viii. 

tiiict provinces for sentiment and humor * make tragedy 
a vehicle for the former, and comedy for the latter. 
This distinction might be adopted with success, as the 
dignity of tragedy would dispense with sallies of plea- 
santry and humor, whilst comedy naturally calls for 
them. Such a conduct in writing would not be an 
exact picture of nature, which requires things to be 
drawn as they happen in life ; yet, rather than a worse 
regulation should be admitted, this would be entitled to 
toleration. 

But on no account should indelicacies in affairs of 
love be encouraged. Such examples will never mend 
the manners of an age already too prone to dissolute- 
ness. If ever the hiss is raised, filth like this demands 
it. But so great is the partiality of the people, that 
indecent jokes of this kind in the older dramatic writers 
meet with applause, or at least escape censure, when an 
innocently low character by a more modern writer, who 
has not acquired the sanction of time, is received with 
marks of dissatisfaction. Which unfair distribution of 
app-ause and censure may be laid to the account of the 
itch for finding fault, the prejudice in favor of estab- 
lished performances, and the inability of the greater 
half of an audience to judge for themselves. 

That the lower ranks in life are ever the most for- 
ward in expressing a disapprobation of vulgar scenes, 
is worthy of observation. They are sensible of their 
own failings, and regard the scenes before them as a 
satire on themselves : they view their own deformity in 
a glass, and are displeased at the appearance they make. 



Chap, viii.] 71 

and wreak their vengeance on the author that drew 
them. From their tribunal, which is the highest in the 
theatre, is issued the hiss of dissatisfaction, and that 
hiss is echoed back by such as cannot hazard an opinion 
of their own : an expression of disapprobation seems 
to imply discernment and taste : the first opinions are 
generally the strongest ; and thus the dispute is finally 
determined. 

To resume the thread of my argument: I am sensi- 
ble there should be a difference made between a pup- 
petshow at Bartholomew-Fair and a comedy at the 
Theatre-Royal. There should also be a difference be- 
tween a comedy and a sermon. The excess of too 
much sentiment is as easily incurred as that of too little 
delicacy. When I called an expression of dislike to 
the humorous exhibition of a low character, affectati- 
on, I had my reason for the expression, and fact in 
view. At these public places of entertainment, it is a 
principal concern of the company in general to approve 
their good breeding and consequence ; and a more na- 
tural way of effecting their purpose does not seem to 
offer itself than that of exploding low-life. This, they 
think, insinuates that they themselves are persons of 
some rank and taste, and that their genteel education 
and conversation in polite life disqualify them for ap- 
proving the scenes before them. Thus is the genius of 
our authors cramped by an obsequiousness to the peo- 
ple's humor. 

Were the subject a little canvassed, I am of opinion 
it would appear that the higher ranks of people are 



72 [Chap, viii. 

less prone to testify an aversion to a scene of coarse 
breeding than those of ignoble birth. Perpetual scenes 
of high-life, perhaps sometimes aukwardly painted by a 
poet whose general residence has been confined to a 
third story, are too common and familiar to them to af- 
ford them entertainment : they are sick of an eternal 
round of what they see every day at home, and require 
a diversity of representation to amuse them, and awaken 
an attention that has been palled by a surfeit. If this 
circumstance had been duly attended to by our affected 
gentry, they would not be so apt to shelter their conse- 
quence behind so thin a veil ; they would enjoy a va- 
riety they love at heart, and not teaze themselves by a 
self-denial that gives them pain. 

It ought to be considered, that there is a wide dis- 
tinction between viewing a part, and playing it in our 
lives. That we do not approve of murder and villany 
is no reason why we may not see them represented and 
satirised on the stage. To exclude such scenes on ac- 
count of their baseness, is as absurd as to forbid the 
erection of St. Paul's cathedral because the people 
could not eat it when built. But as St. Paul's cathe- 
dral was not intended for food, but for the purposes of 
devotion and the ends of magnificence; so the un- 
amiable scenes of a dirty knave may be made subser- 
vient to the purposes of satire, though they cannot be 
proposed as patterns for imitation. 

The last argument I Shall advance in favor of some- 
times permitting a low representation, is drawn from the 
supposed utility of the stage, above-mentioned. It is 



Chap, viit.] 73 

the lower ranks in life, if any, that will be laughed out 
of their faults and follies, as they do not think them- 
selves above the poet's lash. Persons of quality, on 
the contrary, are generally seen to scorn his satire, and 
consider his censures with as much reverence as the 
barking of their lap-dogs. Like divinities in painting', 
they display themselves nakedly and without disguise, 
under sanction of their acknowledged superiority. 



74 [Chap. Lv 



CHAPTER IX. 

Whether Knowledge contributes to 
Happiness. 



Better, at seasons, not to know too much. 

Euripides. 



As I have taken upon myself, as it were, the busi- 
ness of a casuist, among other disputed points, I have 
endeavoured to examine the merits of a question which 
has been often asked, whether, and how far, knowledge 
contributes to happiness r a question in casuistry of real 
importance. 

The substance of a foregoing chapter (chap, iii.) 
is employed in proving, that there is nearly an equal 
portion of felicity distributed throughout the zcorld; 
and as the division of men into the two distinct classes 
of learned and ignorant may well be allowed, the con- 
clusion drawn on that head might have nearly served as 



Chap. ix.\ 75 

an answer to the present query, did not the merits of it 
seem to demand a particular discussion. 

However knowledge may refine human nature, and 
elevate it above that of brutes, it betrays a want of ex- 
perience and observation on the various characters of 
men, and the different conditions of life, not to know 
that the strongest pleasures of sense are heightened by 
die absence of knowledge and speculation, which tend 
to give a disrelish, at least in some degree, to every sen- 
sual enjoyment. The passions are the springs of num- 
berless pleasures, and they are chilled by the interven- 
tion of mental acquisitions. True it is, a pursuit after 
knowledge is a feast to the mind, and worthy the atten- 
tion of a rational being, as it, in the eye of reason, 
compensates for the loss of corporeal delights : but it 
actually abridges us of other sources of pleasure, and 
casts a sickly veil over them. 

That knowledge is not essential happiness, is a truth 
exemplified, in an eminent manner, in children, and in 
the beasts of the field; from whom a strong inference 
may be drawn in support of this opinion. It will, 
without dispute, be readily acknowledged, that the 
lamb which skips and plays knows not sorrow ; and yet 
he is certainly but little indebted to knowledge for his 
felicity. Thoughtless and unconcerned, he seises such 
pleasures as undeviating nature reaches forth to him, 
and is not excruciated with anxious doubts of the im- 
mortality of the soul, or the eternal existence of mat- 
ter, the necessity of moral evil, or the freedom of the 
will. 



76 [Chap. ix. 

That we increase in knowledge as we advance in 
years, we all know ; but we do not find that we in- 
crease in happiness. On the contrary, experience tells 
us, that childhood, which is the most ignorant, is like- 
wise the happiest, state of human life ; a circumstance 
principally chargeable to ignorance and simplicity. 
Evils multiply faster than blessings. Knowledge 
brings care as well as pleasure along with it ; and he 
that eagerly embraces the one must be content to take 
his share of the other, which is often its troublesome 
companion. Pleasure and Pain, like two monarchs, 
divide the empire of the world between them, and con- 
jointly sit on the same throne. Every one, whether 
learned Greek or untaught barbarian, that is pleased 
to be a subject of the former, must at seasons endure 
the incontrolable influence of the latter. It is, howe- 
ver, allowed, that age alone impairs the faculties of 
enjoyment; for which some deduction must be made. 

The Belles Lettres, to those whose taste inclines 
that way, afford a pleasure that leaves no disgust be- 
hind. But there are branches of science, which, how- 
ever agreeable under certain attitudes of the mind, are 
beset with perplexity and gloom. The ingenious rea- 
der will readily conceive that I have an eye to deeply 
moral and metaphysical disquisitions, which are apt to 
alienate the affections from common pursuits. I have 
singled out that particular branch of knowledge which 
treats of the Deity, of the ultimate end of man's crea- 
tion, and of other such important points, as an ac- 
quaintance with these matters, so far as reason lends a 



Chap, ix.] 77 

beam, may be deemed noble, and as this part of science 
is particularly productive of dissatisfaction in affairs of 
life. 

Fact and experience are doughty arguments in the 
scale of a dispute. It will reflect light on the question 
if we take a view of the characters of many studious 
men amongst us, and examine how far their appear- 
ance will countenance the above assertions. What 
gloom surrounds these consecrated votaries of the mu- 
ses ! The gay, the sportive, joys seem to have bid them 
eternal adieu : forbidding looks, silence, melancholy, 
retreats, usurp their place. 

Great application so captivates the eager student, as 
to render that common conversation, which the less cul- 
tivated mind would be pleased with, sickly and palling. 
The meanness and weakness of many an observation, 
the tediousness and unimportant circumstances of many 
a taie, are considered by him as so many intrusions on 
his time and patience ; and with pain he listens to a 
discourse which exhibits neither instruction nor delight 
to him. Reasoning from causes, he rises to effects. 
Penetrating into the temper of his companion, he has 
all his motives and weaknesses open to his view, and 
considers his reflexions as the mechanical effects of his 
several prejudices. He dies in the conversation of the 
living, and revives not till he re-enters the society of the 
dead, entombed in his library. 

Advancement in knowledge, and advancement in 
years, have, in fact, a resemblance of each other : they 
both engender dissatisfaction and peevishness, when they 



78 [Chap. ix. 

border on extremes ; so that study without bounds is a 
premature age of the mind, like that of the body, not 
the centre of pleasure. Truth may be sometimes dis- 
agreeable, but it is always sacred : we humble our 
hearts before the idol, even when we dislike its form. 

Though knowledge may stand in the stead of sensu- 
al delights, there are times when that will pall on the 
mind, like corporeal sweets on the body. Neither in 
.sensual, nor in mental, gratifications must we expect a 
completion of happiness. Possibly a tenor of exqui- 
site felicity may involve a contradiction, as every sensa- 
tion exists by comparison, or at least is heightened by 
it. How far this circumstance is a necessary condition 
of nature, is a question beyond the reach of man. 
We see so much cause to thank the Creator for the 
blessings we inherit in tilings we understand, that we 
will conclude the evils of life, numerous as we find 
them, are the efflux of some general good, or the off- 
spring of incontrolable necessity. We cannot with 
reason arraign the goodncsj of a Being, who has, upon 
a balance, given us a greater share of good than evil. 

The sun does not always shine mid chear the faci 
of nature, but sometimes veils his face, to burst forth 
again with a more dazzling blaze. Day and night suc- 
ceed each other, alternate, and give pleasure repeated 
birth. Variety sparkles on the senses, and beguiles the 
tedious hours, which would otherwise hang like a load 
upon us. 

The most probable way of enjoying pleasures in the 
highest perfection, is to vary them as much as possible. 



Chap, ix.] 79 

and not to indulge in any to a surfeit. The pleasures 
of sense should be wisely blended with the recreations 
of the mind, and an agreeable variety, (as in music, the 
most delightful harmony,) would then succeed. We 
should fly from science to singing, from melancholy to 
music. In such a combination as this, sweetened with 
innocence and a serene consciousness of uprightness, 
except under peculiar circumstances of misery, or ex- 
traordinary gloom of mind, may arise such a share of 
felicity as will not make the possessor think existence a 
burden : and beyond these bounds of happiness neither 
the diving researches of the philosopher, the giddy 
flights of the libertine, nor the unruffled serenity of a 
peasant's life, will carry the most diligent inquirer. 

There is a certain portion of happiness measured out 
to us all ; and the only question is, in what pursuit it 
shall consist ; a question which is determined by our 
choice or peculiar bias. That choice is too generally 
imagined to be of great importance in the scale of 
happiness ; but time and familiarity level the difference 
that is at first supposed to exist between different choi- 
ces. Happiness is situate in idea. If w r e fancy 'we 
have it, it is sufficient ; but too few there are who faucy 
so. It is seen by many at a distance; like the i 
fatuus, and vanishes at their approach, when they ape 
ready to seise it. 

Chance, or some trifling circumstance to universal 
taste trifling as chance, at first determines a man to a 
particular course in life, which by a private prejudice 
he judges most promising to happiness ; and if under 



80 [Chap. ix. 

such a choice, (whether it respects mental or sensual 
enjoyment,) he can persuade himself that he is happy, 
no one else must dare dispute it. The wild lunatic 
himself, who is at so great a remove from rational 
knowledge, as, instead of possessing the common share 
allotted to others, to treasure up whims and nonsense 
diametrically opposite to reason, may yet be happy ; 
perhaps more so than the proud philosopher in Ho- 
race, who thinks himself supremely zrise, and king of 
kings. * 

It affords a smile at many antient, and some more 
modern, philosophers, to reflect on the great emphasis 
they laid on mental acquirement, as if that were exclu- 
sively the only business of life, as well as the only path 
that leads to bliss. They did not consider, that to ap- 
propriate so large a portion of time to speculation, as to 
leave none for action, is to defeat the intention of many 
faculties we derive from nature besides those of the 
mind. It would ill become an author to decry the dig- 
nity of knowledge ; nor would I be interpreted so to 
do : but happiness is not always connected with digni- 
ty ; and it is his office to warn against the dangerous 
effects of excess on human frailty, as tending to distort 
from the paths of propriety, without that harvest of ex- 
quisite felicity which the literary wanderer promises 
himself from his wild excursions in the regions of fancy. 

* Ad summam, sapiens uno minor est Jove, dives, 
Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum ; 
Praecipue sanus, nisi cum pituita molesta est. 

Horat. lib. i. epist. L 



Chap, v.] 81 



CHAPTER X. 



On the Passions. 



The passions, God has implanted in man, as spurs to 

rjoble actions. Vossius* 



There is not, in the whole composition of man, a 
ntore curious and noble contrivance displayed, than is 
visible in the construction and intention of the passions. 
The wisdom that is conspicuous in this part of his 
mechanism, and the inconceivable connexion of the 
soul and body, w r ith the manner of their reciprocal 
action on each other, proclaim the hand that made 
him divine. The subject of these passions has been 
perhaps as much canvassed as any part of philosophy, 
and the application of them more perverted than any 
of the endowments of nature. 

Ignorant of their use, the proud apathist, presum- 
ing to refine upon nature, judges a total extinction of 

G 



82 [Chap. x. 

them the business of life, and manufactures virtues out 
of a rock, valuable only for their toughness. Taking 
on himself the task of mending one of its greatest de- 
signs, he tacitly pronounces himself wiser than its Au- 
thor, like the giants of old, waging war with heaven : * 
and, as r if the dreams of one alone were not sufficient, 
he erects the stoic school, and has his disciples. 

Struck with the absurdity of apathism, the sensualist 
runs into the opposite error ; and, shunning the gulph 
of Charybdis, unwarily splits on the rock of Scylla. 
Extremes ever border on each other ; and one absur- 
dity is seldom seen without a thousand in its train. The 
abolition of error often resembles the amputation of 
Hydra's heads. — • Because the Stoic rejects the passions, 
the Epicurean preaches up the inordinate indulgence 
of them as the sovereign good, equally to the prejudice 
of his much abused converts, and equally in repug- 
nance to the dictates of reason. 

That the passions are intended for wise purposes, 
we may infer from their universality in the animal 
world. In some men they are weaker than in others, 
but no one is withojrt them. Reason, and moderation 
the offspring of reason, are entrusted with the regula- 
tion of them ; and, as far as they perform their office, 
the passions are harmless, useful, and necessary. With- 
out them there would be a general stagnation, and by 

* In hoc sumus sapientes, quod naturam, optimam docem, tan- 
quam deum, sequimur, eique paremus. — Quid enim est aliud, 
gigantura more bellare cum diis, nisi Daturae repugnare? 

Cicero de Sen, 



Chap, x.] 83 

their impulse all the wheels of action are set in motion. 
To suppose them not intended for use in the animal 
economy, is a doctrine as little consonant with reason 
as that of Lucretius, that the eyes were not made to 
see, or the ears to hear. They are the sources of 
pleasure, as well as the sources of action. 

Authors deal much in simile, and similes are useful. 
The comparison of the passions to the gale that wafts 
the ship along, or to the horses that draw the chariot, 
is apt and striking, and the precept conveyed in it ever 
seasonable and new. The ship will not advance with- 
out a gentle gale to generate its motion, and a rude 
and ungovernable storm will overset it. The assist- 
ance of the skilful navigator is requisite, to regulate 
the sails and proportion them to the violence or gentle- 
ness of the wind. Man is a ship ; his passions are his 
gale, and his reason is his pilot. Without his passions 
he will not move, and without his reason to command 

them, he will be lost in his career. Again : the 

chariot is useless if bereft of the horses aid ; and, with- 
out a charioteer, to direct and curb them, they would 
stray and be lost in their course. Man is a chariot : 
divest him of his passions, and his wheels are at rest ; 
they are his horses, and he wants their labor. Take 
away his reason, and he loses his charioteer : reason is 
his charioteer, and his passions need its command, w 
But let us review the principal affections, and sepa- 
rately speak of their qualifications and defects. As 
merit demands, we will begin with the noblest of 
ihem, 



84 [Chap. x. 

Pity for the miseries of others. But the immortal 
Shakespear lived before us, and has told us, in the ge- 
nuine language of nature, that ' it descends, like rain, 
from heaven, upon the spot beneath. It is twice bles- 
sed : it blesseth him that gives and him that takjes.' It 
is the most disinterested of all principles, and there- 
fore the most commendable. The breast that is warm- 
ed by it partakes of divinity. The exercise of pity is 
the agency of the Deity by man, his substitute, to equa- 
lise and level the conditions of men ; the sympathetic 
soul taking a share of another's ills, as though it were a 
moiety of his burden. * The participation of evil by 
pity divides the pain, nor suffers an individual to be 
overborne. Pity is of more price than all the other 
virtues. One single tear shed on affliction is a liquid 
pearl of inestimable value; and he, that cannot feel for 
another, is, by the justice of nature, a stranger to the 
pleasure that awaits relieving compassion. As cruelty 
is the apex of vice, pity is the summit of virtue ; and 
the soil where pity grows is a nursery for every virtue. 
■ If there be passions whose dictates are too much 

attended to, pity is not one of them : it needs less the 
discipline of reason than other affections. It is always 
meritorious, and seldom offends. 

It were treason against the majesty of Venus not to 
range the passion of Love next in order. This is an 
amiable passion, as it is a composition of benevolence 
and friendship, seasoned with a sensation very affet- 

* Ta ©£w $ctm&i ri; ret; aya,Qa.<; irgocugrtic k, H^afei?. Simplic, c. 37. 



Chap, x.] 85 

tuoso, which its votaries alone can feel. The breast, 
that is incapable of it, is not a bed for the virtues : they 
require a generous warmth to produce them. Love 
(genuine and successful love) is perhaps the source 
whence flows the greatest delight human nature is sus- 
ceptible of : it is the feast of the mind as well as of 
the senses. All other enjoyments are insignificant and 
trifling, when set in competition with the sweets of love. 
The Author of nature has wisely ordered, that the in- 
crease of the human race (that second creation) should 
arise from the most enchanting passion he has implant- 
ed in man. But, as the fairest flowers that blow, as 
the finest works of art, are most exposed to the injury 
of a spoiler, love, which is capable of producing the 
most genuine joy, is often the parent of as insupport- 
able pain. The effects of it are warily to be shunned, 
where a prospect of success is cruelly denied. If Rea- 
son assents, snatch the golden opportunity : if Reason 
says, ' Forbear ; fly the insidious syren, ere it be too 
late ; ' retreat on the first alarm. When love has seised 
its possession, it will not be dispossessed ; and, like an 
imperious tyrant, it knows not control. It is a passion 
wild and tumultuous as the sea, and will not lend an 
ear to Reason, whose voice is gentle, and heard only in 
a calm. 

Fear is, indeed, of ignoble birth ; but it is more ne- 
cessary to the animal economy than the most generous 
affections. Fear is the alarm-drum that apprises us 
of danger, and bids us retreat in time. Fear, in mode- 
ration, is a friendly guard. By the warning it gives, it 



86 [Chap. x. 

not only guards ourselves from harm, but may even 
suggest a kind concern for the welfare of another : in 
either view, we are indebted to its influence. But im- 
moderate fear is a cruel tyrant, and it is misery in 
the extreme to be a slave to it. When it unreason- 
ably and continually alarms, it is a disease of the mind, 
and realises evils that are only ideal. If the pain of 
apprehension be equal to the harm we dread, it differs 
not which we embrace : the suffering is, in degree, 
the same. But a severer charge than this has been 
brought against unbounded fear, as frequently the 
origin of crimes. Instances are recorded, where it has 
inspired with cruelty and rancor. As such the em- 
peror Tiberius is represented, whose cowardly appre- 
hensions would incite him to the meanest and most un- 
princely acts of cruelty. To his imaginary dangers 
he would readily have sacrificed the lives of all his 
subjects. 

Revenge is a passion that deserves to be well un- 
derstood, and the subject of caution. Anger, like 
fire, is dreadful when it predominates, and tolerable 
only when under command. The cause that gives 
birth to revenge is injury, or a supposition of injury. 
A real injury received, the spirit of revenge will say, 
is a just cause for a requital, and the very laws imply 
the same, which are only a public revenge for injury, 
judicial punishment being a law of society, and private 
requital a law of nature : and it must be granted, that 
it is not an unreasonable, but a natural, passion. It 
needs, however, the rein rather than the spur. But in 



Chap, x.] 87 

this contest we will call in reason for our counsel c 
Let it be observed, that, though the injured person has 
a right to demand satisfaction, he may yet remit his 
claim as a debt, and absolve the offender ; and the re- 
mission, which in an ordinary instance is no breach of 
duty, may rise into an act of generosity, and become 
a virtue. That it is in most cases better to drop our 
resentment, may be concluded from these considera- 
tions : the affront offered may be undesigned ; it may 
arise from an error or weakness ; or the offender may 
have been sufficiently punished for it in his own mind 
on a cool reflexion. # On any of which suppositions, 
the stifling of resentment is a noble sacrifice offered at 
the shrine of Virtue. It was delicately said, that the 
injurious are more the objects of pity than those who 
suffer their zvrongs.f~A sentiment sometimes lite* 
rally true, and always worthy an elevated mind, which 
can, in compassion to human frailty, overlook the in- 
solence of injury. He, that has such a share of meek- 
ness in his complexion, as to act in conformity with 
this sentiment, will at least have a pleasing satisfaction 
in a retrospect view of his own generosity, and escape 
that remorse, which, as the scourge of a fiend, chastises 
the vindictive mind. To avoid the charge of rank 



Cur tamen hos tu 



Evasisse putes, quos, diri conscia facti, 
Mens habet attonitos, et surdo verbere coedit, 
Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum? 

Juv. Sat, xiii, 

*. c O ahnw t** ahuoiASvu HAx&ciifAWtrtjG', Democrat, Sentent* 



83 [Chap. x. 

Stoicism, I will notwithstanding make some little con- 
cess an to the contrary opinion. If revenge be some- 
times proper, it is when the injurious foe triumphs in 
or repeats his wrongs. It is then a salutary correction, 
which may awaken him to a sense of his injustice, as 
well as secure the sufferer from future attack : and in 
some such cases it is an omission of pernicious ten- 
dency, as well as a mark of meanness, to swallow 
resentment. 

Envy is the bastard sister of Emulation, whose 
place it frequently usurps, and the passion of a little 
mind. To dislike real excellence is injustice and folly ; 
falsely imagined excellence calls for pity. Genuine 
envy is a compound of malevolence and meanness ; 
and, therefore, the object of scorn. The envious are 
ill-natured, or the prosperity of another would not give 
them pain. They are mean in spirit, as their envy is 
a tacit confession of superiority in their rivals. * As 
Nature has allowed us the use of reason, in combina- 
tion with the passions, we will not so far dishonor her 
as to suppose her the champion of this base principle 
in all its littleness. Mere envy depresses and wastes 
its subject : emulation distends the breast, and exalts 
its votaries. It follows, then, that envy should be ba- 
nished from the heart, as the impostor that would repre- 
sent emulation, that laudable spring of generous actions. 
Be it, nevertheless, observed, as a consequence of hu- 
man weakness, that an inordinate desire of excelling 
may become, in a small degree, criminal, without any 

* Qui invidet minor est. Plin, Epist, 



Chap, x.] 89 

admixture of pining envy. Those who are too fond of 
themselves are found guilty oi injustice to others. It 
is a received opinion, concerning misers, that they are 
scarcely honest. If we apply this remark, more ex- 
tensively, to those who are selfish in other respects, 
the inference is equally proper. So that a desire of 
excelling, however commendable in itself, may over- 
leap due bounds as well as the other passions. In pro- 
moting our own cause, we ought to render justice to 
that of others. Were this always the case, the world 
would be happier than it is, as the rage for pre-emi- 
nence is to many a principal cause of discontent. 

Grief is a very tender affection of the soul, and 
bears about it a dignity that inspires with awe. Misery 
is sacred. It is considered as the business of a phi- 
losopher to account for every thing, whether he is 
able or not, and it is the humor of many to do so. In 
compliance with this reigning taste we will observe, 
that this passion seems intended for the same office to 
the mind which pain performs for the body, and that 
they both subserve a purpose, however unpleasantly. 
Were it not for pain, we should be too careless of 
providing against injuries subversive of our welfare and 
existence. The rankling of a wound is a powerful call 
to apply its cure : the pangs of grief are the spurs 
and warnings of the mind to avoid those evils that give 
it birth. — —But whether this sensation be deemed 
serviceable, or not, to the human economy, it is de- 
rived by a natural consequence from the benevolent 
affections of love and friendship, and is their mournful 



90 [Chap. x. 

orphan. Where exists a sensibility of pleasure, by the 
influence of stubborn necessity, must likewise exist a 
sensibility of pain. Grief is the privation of joy, em- 
bittered by a comparison, made in the mind, of a pre- 
sent unhappy situation with a former agreeable state, 
and inseparably attends the loss of what engaged the 
affections. We cannot be too diligent in dispelling its 
gloom, as immoderate sorrow is dangerous, as well as 
fruitless, in its consequences. 

There are other subordinate and collateral branches 
of passion, which are some of them reducible to, and 
dependent on, the above leading and primary affec- 
tions; but we will content ourselves with surveying 
these in this cursory manner, as sufficiently answering 
the purpose in view 7 , of slightly repeating the beauties 
of this curious machinery ; and hinting that, though 
they are all of them intended for the private purposes 
of pleasure or necessity, at certain times, they are yet 
to join in the chorus of a concert conducted by bene- 
volence, according to the beautiful idea of the elegant 
Mason. # 

* Humanity, thy aweful strain 

Shall ever meet our ear, 

Sonorous, sweet, and clear. 

And as, amid the sprightly-swelling train 

Of dulcet notes that breathe 

From flute or lyre, the deep bass rolls its manly melody, 

Guiding the tuneful choir j 

So thou, Humanity, shalt lead along 

Th' accordant passions in their moral song, 

And give our mental concert truest harmony. 

Elfridv 






Chap, w.] 91 

But alas ! in spite of all this fine reasoning, notwith- 
standing this airy and plausible scheme, men will pro- 
ceed in their chosen track, and Mr. Preceptor preaches 
almost in vain ; such is the influence of the demon Ari- 
manius ! But though their natural tempers predominate 
in men's actions, that is no reason for suspending the 
office of a moralist. It is the part of a good reasoner 
to change the reigning humor by his reasonings, and 
convert it to the purposes of virtue and propriety. 
Studious men are different in their manners from others, 
and it is reading and reflexion that occasion this meta- 
morphosis, though it be not always for the better. 

I may possibly be thought, by regular and cautious 
men, to insist too much on the utility of the passions ; 
but they are recommended in combination with reflex- 
ion. Be it remembered, that reason, the great boast 
of man, is sordidly selfish when the breast is untinc- 
tured with generosity ; and generosity is seated in the 
nobler passions ; the proper conduct of which consti- 
tutes the basis of morality. 

In fact, if we would pursue the subject closely, and 
urge it quite home, since self-love has so unlimited a 
share in human actions, it is the peculiar province of 
kings and governors (and even of the subject, as far as 
it lies within his sphere) to seek out and reward merit, 
wherever it is to be found, and to foster the seeds of 
virtue. If men in general always have acted, and al- 
ways will act, from motives of interest, Prudence 
would take them by this foible and avail herself of it, 
by making their interest and their duty the same. The 



m [Chap. x. 

upright man should be the friend of the prince, be- 
cause he is the friend of mankind. He should shower 
his favors on a fruitful soil, and not waste them on the 
sand or on a river ; court men for their virtue, and not 
their rank ; and banish vice from his presence and pro- 
tection. His kingdom would then reap the harvest of 
his munificence, and revere his nod. Virtue as inse- 
parably follows its reward as heat the fire. 



Chap. xi.'\ 93 



CHAPTER XI 



On Patriotism, 



For only the name of liberty is contended for by the multi- 
tude, who are the ministers of licentiousness ; and by the nobles, 
who are the tools of slavery* Their views are, to shake off obe- 
dience to the laws, and subordination. Machiavel. 



Politics and patriotism are subjects so much in 
fashion at present, that not to have given some little at- 
tention, in a miscellaneous work, to the general buz- 
zing about them, may be brought as an argument of 
stupidity. It is scarcely worth while to reason about 
the former, as it is manufactured at the house of every 
publican : but patriotism being a moral theme, we will 
obtrude a few remarks on that extraordinary principle. 

For the sake of regularity, we will begin fyy observ- 
ing, that as every action, and every gesture, of a man 
has its cause, we should first endeavour to find out the 



94 [Chap. xL 

motive of the principle in agitation, and thence stamp 
an estimate on it. The great motive, the soul, of pa- 
triotism, when most sincere and sterling, is enthusiasm, 
and an ardent thirst for glory. # That is, a view adver- 
sity cannot wrest from us. In proportion as the pa- 
triot is sanguine and warm in his complexion, his endea- 
vours are hearty and genuine : and, as I have more than 
once taken notice, that the warmer affections of the 
soul are cooled by the influence of knowledge, — by 
consequence, as the world has gradually refined upon 
nature, (though every innovation does not deserve the 
name of refinement,) patriotism, among other eager 
principles, has gradually declined in its influence. An 
indifference is frequently the consequence of extensive 
reflexion, and the bane of effort and action. Self-love, 
with a foundation less meritorious than a desire of 
being renowned, has so far supplanted it, as scarcely to 
permit us to consider any man as a patriot, till we have 
proved him, like gold, in the hottest furnace of adver- 
sity. 

A rigid patriot is one, who will lose a real life to 
gain an imaginary one. Glory is his god. In pursuit 
of that, he will resign the choicest blessings in the 
estimation of common souls, and see, in conscious 
integrity and honor, all the happiness earth can pro- 
mise. He will regard his country as his nearest rela 



W^m 



* Deniqne non parras animo dat gloria vires ; 
El foeumla facit pectora Jatldis amor. 

Ovid, Tri$tia r %\ IS, 



Chap, xi.} 95 

tion, and renounce all other consanguinity when put in 
competition with it. 

Patriotism, under all these disadvantages, has no 
great allurements to a worldly mind. It is at best but 
a lottery, and such a one as very few among us will ven- 
ture to stake their fortunes in. Whoever embarks in 
such undertakings, though conscious of his own inte- 
grity and resolution, has a fickle judge of his character 
in the body of the nation ; some of whom, influenced 
by private considerations of interest or personal dislike, 
and others through blindness and ignorance, will not 
always reward and punish according to the directions 
of virtue and justice. When such beings as patriots 
are really found, they are to be esteemed the choicest 
gifts of heaven, and cherished with unusual care. 

In cases and questions of this sort, if we would 
search out a complete character, experience of the in- 
dividual in question will alone inform us ; and experi- 
ence must be the result of time, which is the only 
touchstone of perseverance, that primary ingredient of 
patriotism. Circumstanced as we are, we must con- 
tent ourselves with the conviction of fook, who, as the 
Roman historian observes, are taught only by the 
event, * when no other information can be had, how 
much soever the pride of our judgements will suffer 
thereby ; and we must believe no more, and no longer, 
than we read proofs of professions in the actions of our 



Evtntus : stuftomra iste magister est. 

Liv, Dec. in. I. c z. 



96 [Chap. xi. 

patriot. By the same principles of reasoning, if the 
people are wise, the professing friend of his country 
must patiently wait a while, before he can receive his 
laurels, to crown his endeavours after its good, from a 
full confidence in his integrity. 

That many of the antients, and some moderns, have 
earned applause for patriotic virtue, must not, nor can 
with justice, be denied. Through love of fame, men 
h?:,ve been known to slight the frowns of adversity, un- 
der the several distresses of want, hunger, pain, and 
death itself. If terrors like these could not scare them 
from their purposes, terrors at which we are prone to 
revolt, it were great injustice and cruelty to deny them 
that poor reward of their firmness which they have 
so dearly bought, our warmest acknowledgements. 

Neither ought we to object to the motive of such 
noble actions as have signalised some of them in the 
behalf of their country. It is invidious to allege, that 
a desire of fame is a selfish consideration, since self- 
love is the primum mobile of all human actions, and it 
cannot be expected that any one but a lunatic will act 
for no apparent reason, or that a hero can entirely di- 
vest himself of the character of man. Love of glory 
is harmless, laudable, and useful, and springs from 
emulation, a nursery of virtue. It is to be highly ca- 
ressed when it co-operates with the general good, and 
serves the public. The common notions of honor, the 
care an upright man takes to approve his conduct in 
life, are built on this principle; and even the bare en- 
deavour to avoid reproach terminates in it. We must 



Chap. oci~'\ 97 

not, therefore, be too fond of dabbling in, the doctrine 
of motives, to the prejudice of those we judge. With 
us, fallible and short-sighted mortals, past actions alone 
must ascertain our characters, when views cannot be 
discovered ; and, as they are more or less favorable, we 
must more or less esteem the agent. But to deny us 
our motive entirely, is to launch a ship in a dead 
calm, and expect it will reach a port. 

Who then is a patriot ; a sincere and honorable one, 
who from his heart disdains to accept of praises he has 
not dearly bought? — I could name such a man even in 
our times, and a little island would furnish us the ex- 
ample : a commander who does not, as Caesar did, 
trample on the liberty of his country, but bravely de- 
fends it against a foreign invader : a hero, who refused 
a crown to wear the laurel, an ensign of greatness in 
his opinion surpassing the regal diadem. Such a man 
as this does indeed deserve favor and support from his 
countrymen, for whom he is ready to encounter every 
danger, and to give up his life, that he may live again 
in future ages. Virtue like his is more than we have 
reason to expect from a son of nature, in body equally 
as sensible of injuries of every kind as the tenderest of 
us, though endued with a spirit superior to them all. 
Toils of war, hazard of losing all our support, and 
risque of life, are bitter pills for mortals to swallow. 
. ..On the other hand, pretended patriotism, patriotism 
which runs no hazard of any kind, and veers about 
with every wind, as sordid interest and pecuniary views 
incline,: is a despicable meanness, and merits only the 

H 



98 [Chap. xi. 

contempt and scorn of the world. That man must 
possess an ungenerous and a little soul, who arrogates 
to himself a glory which he is conscious he merits not, 
and for which he is not ready to lay down an adequate 
purchase. He is to be considered as basely taking an 
advantage of the ignorance or inattention of those who 
credit his plausible professions, and as very a cheat as 
the thief who robs us of our money, when our ab- 
sence, or unwariness of his design, affords him the op- 
portunity. 

I shall, without question, by some be understood to 
glance at a celebrated Englishman in the character last 
described; but I candidly own no such personality is 
here intended, as I chuse not to give my opinion what 
caricature will resemble him. Ethics are of no party. 
It would ill beseem a moral writer to enlist on any 
side. I only offer a few remarks, to be applied at the 
reader's discretion. 

If he is judged to have rendered service to his coun- 
try, as many of its friends affirm, it is political, as 
well as moral, justice, that he should reap the fruits of 
his labors for the time already past. Whether a man 
be sincere, or not, it is policy to reward those actions 
that are beneficial to the nation, by way of bribe and 
earnest for future services. If it were made worth 
men's while to be honest, they would be so. We stand 
on an excellent bottom where virtue and gain cement 
each other. 

It is not so necessary to the politician, as is gene- 
rally supposed, to inquire whether a man acts from 



Chap, xi.] 99 

public principles of honor,- or from private views, pro- 
vided he act at all : whatsoever the motive be, the be- 
nefit or injury, (facts, without my suffrage, shall deter- 
mine which,) derived to his country, is just the same. 

To confound private with public characters is beside 
the purpose : they need not be set in contrast when 
they concern not each other. If we make both con- 
cessions, that those men our patriot has so roughly 
handled are the base tools he has represented them to 
be; and that he himself is as totally devoid of prin- 
ciple; yet even on these suppositions, if he be really 
at enmity with them from private resentment, the pub- 
lic may possibly be availed of his endeavours, as one 
knave is an excellent instrument to expose the baseness 
of another: it were almost too coarse to add, that 
token rogues fall out, honest men come by their light. 

Allowing he is really interested at heart in re- 
pressing the encroachments of arbitrary power, (Fame 
says he is,) he is embarked in a worthy cause, i wish 
I could say as much in favor of the mob, who com- 
pose his body-guard. I fear they are to be esteemed 
greater sticklers for it, when they compel the inhabit- 
ants of a city to illuminate their windows, whether they 
will or not, (once because their patriot was sent to pri- 
son,) than the most despotic minister. 

I am much of the opinion of my author, (Machia- 
vel,) that, in general, only the name of liberty is con- 
tended for by the heads and the dregs of a people. 
Few ages afford examples of integrity in administra- 
tion. Interest has too large a gripe. The general 

h % 



100 [Chap. xi. 

good is swallowed up in the views of individuals. If 
the present be bad, it is no novelty. A perpetual 
round of the same causes cannot fail of producing the 
same effects. Men of dishonest principles are often 
fixed on for the stewards of a nation, and not suffi- 
ciently accountable to those who appoint them. The 
temptations they lie exposed to are great, and their vir- 
tue to resist them is none at all. The people fix the 
price of their liberties, and then repine if the minister 
lays down the purchase. Hence the tears they shed. 

But, to take leave of our patriot : if, after all his 
professions of patriotism and protestations of integrity, 
(like some that have gone before him,) he meanly de- 
serts his cause, through disappointments of sordid ex- 
pectation or unworthy allurements, he must not hope 
to be numbered with former worthies ; those moral co- 
mets, who stemmed the torrent of corruption and op- 
position to the last, and would suffer an injury from so 
undeserving an interloper. 



Chap. xii.~\ 101 



CHAPTER XII. 



On the public Exercise of Prostitution. 



What street abounds not in obscenity ? 

Juvenal. 



In an age so strenuously inclined to improvements 
as the present, there is encouragement for throwing out 
hints and proposals that might tend to the emolument 
of society. With an eye to this purpose, and urged by 
the favorable reception well-meant endeavours ever 
meet with, I have turned my thoughts on the subject 
of a pernicious evil, which has too long infested our 
streets, to the detriment of health, life, and morality, 
with a view to remove it. The evil I mean, to make 
my preface short, is the open and public exercise of 
prostitution ; an exercise productive of both a moral 



102 [Chap. xii. 

and a physical contagion, the one on the manners, the 
other on the bodies, of the people. 

It will hardly be contended, that there is a possibi- 
lity of stopping the spreading contagion by a radical 
cure, the prevention of fornication, which is the cause 
of it. The passion for sensual indulgence in this re- 
spect has been ever too rebellious to submit to the con- 
trol of law. The legislators of every age and nation, 
from the remotest periods of antiquity, have despaired 
of subduing it entirely ; and the best course many of 
them could take, before disease existed, was to license 
it under certain regulations, which were judged to in- 
troduce as few ill consequences as a toleration of any 
kind would admit. 

Were it in the power of legislature totally to put 
a stop to fornication, I grant it would be such a benefit 
to a nation, as would amply repay the trouble attending 
the exertion of law against offenders. Matrimony, the 
source of population, which is a great concern of state, 
suffers exceedingly from its prevalence among youth ; 
who would engage in chaster connexions, and become 
friends to their country, if they could be deprived of 
the company of women on any other conditions. Some 
there are who give it as their opinion, that a stricter 
search after prostitutes, and a severer penalty inflicted 
on each party concerned, would prevent it : but I be- 
lieve with little ground for their assertions. The best 
consequences that would follow a prohibition of this 
kind would be only a removal of the evil out of sight, 
by forcing the delinquents to retreats, and perhaps a 



Chap, xii.] 103 

greater eagerness after a pleasure they would esteem 
the sweeter because it was forbidden them. # Besides, 
that a strong check on the ungovernable luxuriancy of 
mankind might beget a moral distortion. 

Taking it for granted, as I think we may, that an en- 
tire reformation in this particular is too great a blessing 
to be hoped for from human perverseness and frailty, 
the present train of ills merits the attention and redress 
of administration. To give a higher idea of the ne- 
cessity of such a redress, we will cursorily survey the 
chief grounds of complaint. 

The first grievance we will touch on is, the additi- 
onal temptation men are exposed to from the public 
appearance of prostitutes in the streets and other pla- 
ces of resort, and the lures they openly spread for the 
unwary. A sight of such objects awakens a desire, 
which inattention, or other amusement, has laid asleep, 
and many are caught, who otherwise would have es- 
caped. Opportunity makes him a thief, who without 
it had been honest. Scarcely half the number of 
rakes, who now are their dupes, would be at the pains 
of searching for them. They see them at their elbow, 
are seised by surprise, and surrender at discretion. 

A disease, which saps the foundation of health and 
life, is dispersed over the nation, whose very cure is the 
bane of strength. Young men, who are the ornament 



* Quicquid servatur cupimus magis, ipsaque furem 
Cara vocat. 

Ovid. Amor. L Hi. el. 4. 



104 {Chap, mi) 

of the present, and should constitute the support of 
the succeeding, age, are the victims of its ravages, and 
not rarely pay the forfeit of their lives, as the dear pur- 
chase of their gratification. Nor docs the evil rest 
with them. The relics of disease and weakness are 
the inheritance of their children, instead of the wealth 
they have wasted ; and the innocent, who deserve not 
to share in their ills when as yet they have not par- 
taken in their vices, surfer with the guilty. It is true, 
posterity has never consulted the good of its ancestry : 
yet we, if we are just, shall avoid entailing our own 
miseries on those who come after us, whether they have 
deserved our favours or not, and not with surly wit de- 
mand, What good has posterity ever done as? — Let 
posterity consaltfor itself. 

The hiding-places of common prostitutes are not 
confined to the purposes of forbidden love. They are 
nurseries for every moral disease that can infect a na- 
tion. Debauchery is not the only vice they harbour : 
on the contrary, it is perhaps one of the most harmless 
and inconsiderable. Crimes of blacker dye there 
find an asylum. By public relations we are informed, 
that men are robbed, and murdered, by the abandoned 
retainers of those odious retreats; and, by the losses 
they sustain from their commerce among them, are 
tempted to replace their money by means which at last 
cover them with shame and ignominy. Idleness is a 
constant attendant at these detested cells ; and it is an ob- 
servation not less true than trite, that those who are not 
well, are generally ill, employed. Vile as the charac- 



Chap. xiQ 105 

ters of prostitutes are, they are rendered worse by the 
licentious state of their prostitution. 

Another loss to the community from the present 
mode, is that of labor. There are computed to be 
many thousand idle professors of prostitution in the 
metropolis only, who are lost to the state, by not con- 
tributing their share of industry to supply the several 
national wants. Such a number of persons, properly 
employed, would be no inconsiderable accession to any 
useful occupation they are capable of undertaking ; 
and even a revenue might arise to the government, by 
way of tax on luxury, from the profits of their labor, 
and the hires of their prostitution. 

To enumerate all the evils that are consequent on 
the present open and unregulated exercise of fornica- 
tion, would be both unnecessary and improper : unne- 
cessary, because they are sufficiently known to the ge- 
nerality of the world ; and improper, as it would be to 
collect in a body a multitude of such descriptions as 
would be an affront to decorum. It is enough that we 
are witnesses of what is complained of nightly m the 
streets, without painting the scenes afresh, and staining 
the leaves of a book with recapitulations of what mis- 
chiefs are engendered from the spawn of obscenity. 
If the above are not subjects for complaint, what are 
all the natural evils of life, and at what shall we be 
concerned ? Custom familiarises these things, it is true ; 
and by means of it we overlook them : and so it will 
pestilence and the sword : they can only infect and de- 
stroy ; and if that be a trifle, why complain of any thing ? 



106 [Chap. mi. 

Such being the inconveniences resulting from unli- 
censed prostitution, it v. ill, I trust, be allowed there is 
great room for reforming it. The most natural me- 
thod of effecting which purpose, appears to be, by the 
erection of public stews, subject to the inspection and 
regulations of officers appointed by government ; whose 
province should be to prevent the incidental grievances 
accruing, which are above pointed out. The desirable 
example has been set, though not entirely on this 
plan, by several states, as Sparta, Rome, Leghorn, 
and others, by way of excluding greater evils. * 

Indeed, we need not have travelled so far for exam- 

* The Grecian states licensed courtezans, (who were to wear a 
peculiar garment,) as a remedy against adultery. As matrimony 
is an institution of society founded on general utility, adultery 
and fornication come within the description of vices ; and though 
fornication be the more simple and innocent of those two irregula- 
rities, it is yet to be deemed immoral ; that commerce, in parti- 
cular, with common women, which does not subserve the cause of 
procreation. That our age is not more corrupt than some former 
ages, in this respect, may be concluded from the following words, 
which are to be found in Cicero's oration for M. Ccelius, and 
would scarcely be uttered now by a rake in sad sobriety, much less 
from a rostrum, except by an orator Henley, or a swine that had 
the gift of speech. They are these. Verum si quis est qui etiam 
meretriciis amoribus interdictum juventuti putet, est ille quidem valde 
severus, negare non possum: sed abhorret non modo ab hujus seculi 
licentia, verum etiam a majorum consuetudine atque concessis : quando 
enim hoc non factum est? quando reprehensum? &c. 

Were I to interpret the license here granted into an encourage- 
ment of wantonness, I should censure it as very bad politics ; but, 
if it were intended by way of anticipation against worse, I could 
«ven adore it, 



Chap, xii.] 107 

pies : we read of public stews, on the Bank-side, 
South wark, which were licensed by the bishop of Win- 
chester, and subject to regulations confirmed by parli- 
ament in the reign of Henry II. the articles of which 
are to be seen in Stozces Survey. Four of the most 
remarkable orders are the following : 

That no stew-holder should keep any woman that had 
the perilous infirmity of burning. 

That no single woman, desirous of forsaking her 
sins, should be kept against her will. 

That no stew-holder should receive a nun, or a 
man's wife. 

That no man should be inticed into any of these 
houses ; nor any single woman take money for lying 
with a man, unless he lay all night. — 

They were abolished in the year 1546, by command 
of Henry VIII. that pattern of chastity and conscien- 
tious advocate for wedded love ! 

I do not here intend, nor is it my province, to spe- 
cify the manner and particulars of the erection I re- 
commend : that I leave for a more able projector ; 
and content myself with barely representing the want 
of it. It is, however, proper to take notice, that 
wherever such an institution receives the sanction of 
law, the utmost care should be taken to root out semi- 
naries of unlicensed courtezans, as a neglect of them 
would greatly impede the best endeavours to remove 
the grievance. Some vigilance must, in such a case, 
be adopted; and Justice, now too blind, open her 
eyes, and seek out in earnest those who transgress, if 



108 [Chap. ceil. 

any met encouragement. The modest fair might then 
pass along the streets without having her ears assailed 
with ribaldry and filth, and escape the confusion that 
now often tinges her cheek with a blush ; and the un- 
wary boy, who before thought no ill, avoid the snare 
the syren spreads for him, and not be inticed to squan- 
der away money, sometimes not his own. 

If it be objected, that the same difficulty of eradi- 
cating irregulars would afterward subsist as we now 
encounter, I take the liberty to deny it. Disease scares 
a little, though not so much as were to be wished. 
Many of those who are strongly bent on satisfying 
their desires, would be at small pains to avoid the 
scourge, if they had it in their power, and of two 
evils embrace the least. It would thence naturally 
follow', that the exercise disallowed would fall to de- 
cay, and the professors of it diminish in number of 
course, without the assistance even of additional vigi- 
lance. At present no such choice exists. Men must em- 
brace both debauchery and disease, instead of only the 
former; by which the consequences of their conduct 
are not confined to themselves. 

As the trouble attending a completion of the liber- 
tine's wish would be equally considerable, and only 
the propagation of disease be taken away, under such 
an institution, the cause of matrimony would not suf- 
fer. Matrimony was as much encouraged by the prac- 
tice of the Greeks and Romans, when disease existed 
not, as now : and if that produces not, this destroys 
the race. By far the greater part of our youth (pro- 



Chap, xii.] 109 

bably six out of ten, at the least) indulge in illicit 
amours, under all the present disadvantages attending 
their libertinism. I believe I have hardly exceeded the 
truth in my random calculation. If not, what a num- 
ber of the human race must derive a weakness, the 
concomitant of disease, to the detriment of their spe- 
cies ! and how few are deterred by an apprehension 
of the evils their profligacy entails on them! — They 
proceed in their career till they are weary of it ; and 
then, by experience taught, have final recourse to the 
arms of a lawful bride for th#t genuine satisfaction, 
and that feeling return of affection, they could not find 
in the venal embraces of a harlot. 

To back all these endeavours, it would be no mean 
assistance if the means of support for the unportioned 
fair could be multiplied, to engage the attention of 
superfluous numbers. A prohibition of some employ- 
ments for men, in favor of them, would surely be no 
hardship for the one, and might prove a relief to the 
other. The circle the latter move in is too contracted, 
and from the difficulties they have to struggle with, 
they are led to embrace their shame. The natural 
evils of life, incidental to the human race, fall more to 
the share of that tender sex than to the other. The 
laws of society should, in pity, favor them as much as 
possible. 

As to the unhappy prostitutes themselves, it will na- 
turally be observed, that they have been already viewed 
with the eye of pity, and afforded a comfortable re- 



110 [Chap. cvii. 

treat from their miserable situation. *. Much to the 
honor of those who projected the erection, and contri- 
bute to the support of such an asylum, it must be al- 
lowed there is a retreat. But that does not come home 
to the point, nor is it sufficient for the general good 
If the unbridled passions of youth are too impetuous 
to bear the curb, there must necessarily exist some ob- 
ject of their desire, which should rather be whores 
than the wives of others ; and if the infatuation of some 
hapless females, who are insensible to the miseries 
they court, or their inability from disease or other 
causes, incapacitates them from availing themselves of 
this public indulgence, we may as well correct what 
appears not to admit of a cure, by abridging the train 
of consequences, and, if that were feasible, endeavour- 
ing to advance the ends of procreation. 

The women in question, I am aware, are seen in <\ 
light so odious by the stern part of the world, and 
particularly those of their own sex, that to plead for 
what might only seem a relief to them will be thought 
a crime. Build not a house to hide their devoted heads, 
they will say ; chastise them rather daily zcith scorpions. 
But if, unlike robbers, they are necessary evils, and 
subserve a cause, by pruning the dangerous luxuriancy 
of mankind; if some must be tolerated; humanity ha? 
other dictates in store : 

Chrysippus non dicet idem, nee mite Thaletis 
Ingenium, dulcique senex vicinus Hymetto. 

* The Magdalene-house, 



Chap, ocii^] 111 

The miserable in every station are subjects that ask our 
pity, not our hatred ; and they are sufficiently miser- 
able, both in situation and prospect. They are ene- 
mies to themselves more than to others. Despised and 
scorned by virtuous pride, hated and detested by rigid 
severity, they wander about unpitied. The hospitable 
door, which is open to virtuous poverty when covered 
with rags, is shut to them alone ; and a prison is the 
common asylum their country affords them. Occupa- 
tions which belong only to females, the effeminate 
manufacture and vending of their own ornaments and 
clothing, are usurped by the other sex, to their preju- 
dice ; and even opportunities of servitude under an im- 
perious mistress are not always to be found. To loss 
of character, which perhaps was the forfeit of an un- 
guarded moment, is added the loss of every friend, 
and they are constrained to submit to all the indignities 
and insults which the brutality of the lowest order in 
life is pleased to bestow on them. They have punish- 
ment enough for their faults, both mental and corpo- 
real, if punishment in any shape would awaken them to 
sensibility. The very horror an imprudent female is 
beheld with is the parent of despair to her, and the 
bane of her amendment. Pity be shed on the offender, 
when denied to the offence : the weakness, not the 
vice, bespeaks it. 

I fear, were my project to come under public con- 
sideration, it would have much to combat with the 
prejudices of some who are contracted in their notions., 
and the interests of others who with the worm subsist 



112 [Chap. xii. 

on destruction. Religion would be brought into a dis- 
pute, wherein it has no concern ; though it never, that I 
knew, forbade a small evil when it excluded a greater, 
and always enjoins real goodness in preference to os- 
tentation. That it would seem an encouragement of 
vice to erect a theatre, whereon to exhibit its scenes, 
is a plea which is only plausible, and reflects no honor 
on the understanding of him that makes it. We are 
not to be condemned, or to condemn, by appearances : 
the intention and consequences must stamp an estimate 
on the merit of a deed. If, indeed, a public counte- 
nance of regulated fornication will be attended with 
insurmountable obstacles, or found not to accomplish 
the purpose of institution, no more can be urged in its 
behalf: but to object to it for reasons of superstition 
is weak indeed, and a disgrace to so sensible and en- 
lightened an age as this. 

The alarm that is raised by a bold innovation in time 
subsides ; particularly if experience pronounces it salu- 
tary. Custom has reconciled people to a Magdalene- 
house and a Foundling-hospital, though they gave so 
o-reat offence at first. It has reconciled them even to 
an hospital for the cure of a disease, the consequence 
and scourge of vice. The same familiarity would fa- 
vor the scheme in question. What more dismal, yet 
what more necessary, than the remedy for one under 
die influence of the hydrophobia ? Death is his only 
release: cruelty to him, if a cruelty; but mercy to- 
numberless others, who without it might have been, the, 
devoted objects .of his contagion. . . '. .. 



Chap, xii.] ^ 113 

Pope, speaking of governments, has said, i What's 
best administer'd is best/ — If the foreign institutions, 
brought for examples, are not blest with desired suc- 
cess, it may reasonably be attributed to the want of 
care in conducting them, and not to a defect in the 
scheme itself. However, as I am not inclined to be 
systematical, if the utmost care will not subdue the 
Hydra, I am ready to give up the argument : I know 
there are more projectors than can be attended to, and 
more projects than are good. — Now throw we a veil 
over the subject, and think of it no more. 



114 \CIiap. xiiis 



CHAPTER XXII. 



Antient and modern Virtues compared 



O'er vice the sacred veil of virtue's spread • 
And gravity may shroud a villain's head. 

Juvenal. 



It has been an almost universally received notion for 
some thousand years, that the world increases in vice 
in proportion as it increases in age. This opinion is 
visible among the Romans in their very language, 
which has an idiom implying the degeneracy. Vir an- 
tiquus, a man of antiquity, is used by them to signify 
a man of probity- Whether this sentiment be well 
grounded, will appear from an examination of the 
modern with antient characters of men who still live in 
the historian's page. If it be just, it is enough to 
fright a man of common fortitude, as we must in a 
course of years degenerate into very devils. But wc 



Chap, xiii.] 115 

hope to prove, by way of consolation, that there is 
only a fluctuation of virtues and vices ; and that one 
virtue and one vice expels and succeeds another. 

This inquiry has a near connexion with the question, 
Mow far knowledge contributes to happiness ? and is 
partly reducible to it. A cursory glance on the anti- 
ents' manners, in order to compare them with our own, 
will reflect a light on both these queries. 

We cannot better direct our remarks, than to the 
actions of the greatest and most absolute men of for- 
mer times ; such as, by their stations in life, were en- 
abled to follow the full bent of their inclinations. If 
we do this, how much will the antients suffer from a 
nice inspection into the lives and morals of many of 
their kings and emperors ! Had the monarchs of old 
Rome (the greatest city and seat of empire of antiquity) 
combined to disgrace the age they lived in, they could 
not well have more completely accomplished their pur- 
pose than they have done. The histories of most of 
them contain such extravagant examples of tyranny, 
cruelty, lawless lust, injustice, and every vice that has 
deserved a name, as would hardly be credited by one 
not versed in the annals of that country. Subjects 
slaughtered for diversion and envy, rapes and shameless 
abominations, violations of every law of man and hu- 
manity, gluttony and every excess, signalise the reigns 
of these monsters enthroned. The names of Nero, Cali- 
gula, Domitian, Vitellius, Heliogabalus, and some others 
that could be singled out, wall justify our censures, ancj 
acquit us of the charge of calumny. To particularise 

12 



116 [Chap. xiit. 

their flagitious actions would be unnecessarily to invade 
the province of history, as few are so ignorant of the 
Roman records as to need it, though many will not 
rely on their own judgements, but content themselves 
with opinions ready made for their use. We have, ii 
must be allowed, modern examples of bad princes, 
who have brought dishonor on royalty ; but I much 
question if the interval of time from Tiberius, down 
to the Thirty Tyrants, can be matched in any succeed- 
ing age, for infamous lives and actions of princes, by 
the accounts we have of them in Suetonius, Tacitus, 
and some other historians. 

As to the vices of that age, among private persons, 
we may easily conceive to how great a pitch they had 
arrived, from the accounts of profligacy too glaringly 
painted, by the honest indignation of Juvenal and some 
passages of Persius, to have seen the light. In them 
we find such enormities of the times exposed, as ge- 
niuses in vice might boast of ; # such as would signalise 
this or any other age of the world. Let the innocent 
reader rack his invention, and his conceptions will come 
short of the originals. 

The private history of Petronius, that pure writer of 
impurity, as he has been ingeniously and properly 
stiled r gives a fine opportunity of guessing at the spirit 
of the time in which he lived, under the auspices of 
Nero. Let him, who has nursed up an opinion of the 



* Ob magnitudinem infamiae ; cujus apud prodigos co- 

vissima voluptas est. Tacit. Annal, 



Chap. xiii~\ 117 

extraordinary purity and innocence of antiquity, con* 
suit this and the above quoted authors, and he will not 
stand aghast at any accounts he reads of our own En- 
glish metropolis. 

Luxury is the great basis of most modern vices, 
Gluttony was much indulged at Rome, as well as now. 
Their most polished authors talk of, and describe, 
good eating and drinking with such a gout as to make 
a hungry reader's mouth water. Their lampreys and 
other ^choice fish, their rare and far-fetched fowls, their 
sauces and pickles, are known to every one acquainted 
with their writings. With what satisfaction does the 
younger Pliny garnish a table, m his epistles ! 

To talk of Roman elegance in dress might cause a 
modern beau to smile ; but they had their ornaments of 
^old, and silver, and jewels, and even their peacock- 
feather suits, as well as we. The ventus textilis, the 
lima nebula, linen so fine as to acquire those names, 
may rival our boasted lawns. 

Frauds were not unknown. The art of making 
their limbs look sore, by application of a corroding 
herb, to extort compassion, was used by beggars ; a 
trick exquisite and refined! The delusive wiles of the 
priests and ministers of their gods are well exposed in 
the temporising and crafty humor of Tryphaena, at the 
temple of Priapus, on occasion of the death of the 
sacred goose. Cheats and thieves were known among 
them as well as now. Poisoning and stratagems to 
procure estates were not rare. Adultery had its exam- 
ples in plenty : that piece of politeness was not left 



118 [Chap, xiii, 

for modern invention. V illany in servants was so fre-* 
quent, that fur, the old ward vised to distinguish that 
class, was afterwards restricted to signify a thief; a 
transition resembling that of our English word knave, 
which two hundred years ago meant a servant. It is 
tiresome to recapitulate every particular ; that were to 
plunge into an ocean. There is no name for any vice 
in our language which cannot be expressed by a Ro- 
man word; and no vice which is not often mentioned 
by their authors. I mean not to assert that they were 
worse than in our age; but only that great degeneracy 
is a chimera. If they talk not of telescopes, electri- 
city, and gunpowder, they rival us in moral inventions. 
Not entirely to rest our authorities on the Romans, 
we have no reason to adore the Greeks for their ex- 
traordinary purity. A bad man was not regarded by 
them with so much astonishment and dismay as a wild 
bull or a two-headed monster. Such beings are men- 
tioned as very common things. Diogenes, the cynic, 
used a lanthorn to find, what he could not by day-light, 
an honest man ; and that the greater part of men were 
bad, was the opinion of Bias. From the account of these 
venerable grey-beards one might conclude their contem- 
poraries to have been worse than our own : we will pay 
them the negative compliment of being not much better. 
There are not such good private memoirs of dissolute 
persons to be found among their writings, as the Ro- 
mans have left us, to disgrace their times. The bio- 
graphical incidents respecting this nation are confined 
chiefly to virtuous men. Some bad characters are 



Chap. xiii.~\ 119 

transmitted down to Us, but they are such as are inter- 
woven with general history. In other words, they have 
not a Juvenal or a Persius, a Petronius or a Horace, 
to expose their vices ; and Menander is lost. The 
'principal satire against them is found in Aristophanes, 
who> it may be supposed, drew his pictures from real 
life. What abominable stuff has this writer called by 
the name of comedies! Such an author would be si- 
lenced now, as a subject of abhorrence. In short, 
Turkey is the seat of antient Greece. 

One of the best qualities the antients could boast 
of was, that they did not worry one another for reli- 
gion, and honor their maker by destroying his works. 
Socrates is a rare example of such a sacrifice ; and he 
would probably have escaped the rage of Anytus, Me- 
litus, and the rest of his persecutors, if he had started 
his demon a little more prudently, and not made so 
violent a stir about some innocent doctrines, insipidly 
recorded by Xenophon in his Memorabilia, and idol- 
ised by Plato. It was, however, very cruel thus to 
have treated an honest phrensy. 

Those crimes are to be deemed most flagitious which 
have the greatest tendency to destroy or hurt the hu- 
man race. On this head, there are some heavy charges 
to be alleged against antiquity. War and ambition are 
too much indulged in our times, but they were still 
more unreasonably attended to in the earlier ages. 
Their hardier virtues were directed to this cruel pur- 
pose, even by some of their philosophers themselves. 
In pursuit of it they lost all regard to justice and hu- 



120 [Chap, xiii, 

inanity ; and dignified their steadiness in this destructive 
trade by the comprehensive name of virtue. The 
poor victims of their fury had frequent cause to rue 
the consequences from want of generosity in the vic- 
tors' treatment. — * An extraordinary inclination to such 
violations as this will balance against numerous virtues ; 
and the strictest private conduct among fellow-citizens 
will not atone for the ravages attending an invasion of 
others' possessions. If softness and effeminacy degrade 
some modern characters, roughness and ferocity had 
likewise their faults. They have both their concomi- 
tant blemishes; but especially the latter, which distin- 
guish brutes from men. 

Two other accusations shall be brought against the 
antients, one of them unknown to Europe now. The 
first is, their exposing their new-born babes to perish, 
when the father did not choose to educate them. This 
is so cruel a violation of the law of nature, that one 
would imagine none but savages could be guilty of, 
and those of the most barbarous sort. The last parti- 
cular I shall urge is, the mariner in which many of 
them treated those fellow-creatures they were pleased 
to make their slaves, and their ungenerous desertion of 
them when worn out in their service, if not in our 
country, yet many who are the subjects of it in another 
continent, I am well aware, are not innocent of this 
charge ; and I only exhibit it as a proof that this ex- 
ample of injustice is not of modern growth, and that 
the antients infringed the natural law as well as we. 
The charge may appear trifling in the opinion of a 



Chap, tfiiiii 121 

planter, but it really is not so. Without the additional 
exercise of cruelty towards these slaves, the assumed 
dominion over them without their consent is unwar- 
rantable. Every son of Nature, from the moment of 
his birth, is entitled to freedom, as his natural inherit- 
ance. If his inclination or interest subject him to 
another, his master has his concurrence for the autho- 
rity he is vested with, which he may exercise as long as 
is by stipulation agreed, but no longer : he is but a 
temporary servant, and can demand back his liberty at 
pleasure. But absolute slavery can only be incurred 
by a delinquent, for the breach of some law of that so- 
ciety of which he professes himself a member, and 
whose protection he enjoys. This, and this only, is 
lawful slavery, which may yield a recompense for the 
losses of him who has been injured. Policy would 
prefer the infliction of this punishment to taking away 
a life that may be of service to the public. Death is 
insolvent: old Charon is the only gainer by it. To 
send a man into the other world for damage he has 
done in this, is adding to the loss. Let him stay here 
and strain his nerves to repair it. 

The limits of a chapter will not allow a more mi- 
nute examination, and we must content ourselves with 
this general review from the accounts given by the wri- 
ters of former times. In them we have abundant ex- 
amples of every species of vice, if that will constitute 
them equally vicious with us : if not, I know not by 
what standard we are to ascertain the truth of the 
question in debate. Flattery itself, the varnish of vice 



122 [Chap. xiii. 

and bane of honesty, was not left for modern refine- 
ment. The basest characters of antiquity could find 
their panegyrists. Inventions in the arts have been 
more reserved for sagacious improvement than inven- 
tions in vice. Vice needs not much instruction : the 
scenes of many a single profligate present it in every 
form ; and profligates have been the growth of all 
ages. Professions of virtue, I grant, may have been 
more frequent in former times than now ; but we are 
not thence to conclude that they had juster notions of 
it, or a larger share, than our contemporaries ; but that 
they had more ostentation. Stateliness and reserve 
mark the characters of antiquity: impudence and free- 
dom are the characteristic of the moderns. The for- 
mer chose rather to cloak their faults ; the latter as 
readily expose them. 

If we make this distinction, that the vices of the 
antients were more from nature, and those of the mo- 
derns rather the result of art, it will balance neither 
way ; for if the enthusiastic spirit of the former pro- 
duced heroism in virtue, it likewise gave birth to he- 
roism in vice. And if it be insisted on that mankind 
degenerates, it can only be attributed to the advance- 
ment of knowledge, as of pernicious tendency : but 
that is a concession I should make with regret. The 
doctrine of cause and effect, as there is an inseparable 
connexion between them, is of service in this and all 
other disquisitions. Though we were deprived of the 
assistance of records, we should not be entirely inca- 
pacitated to form some just conclusions* Men had the 



Chap, xiii.] 123 

iame passions ill former ages as at present: and 
the same degrees of learning or ignorance must have, 
ceteris paribus, the same influence at all times. Tra- 
vel into an ignorant English county, and you are in the 
nearest road to antient Greece and Rome, though 
you see not the temple of Diana or the Capitol be- 
fore you. 

A research into the remoter ages of antiquity, prior 
to Grecian and Roman splendor, is attended with in- 
surmountable difficulties. Such fabulous accounts are 
interwoven with earlier annals, as are an afTront on 
common sense ; and what are probable cannot be 
fully relied on, for more reasons than one* The more 
remote the period, the more ignorant the people, and 
the nearer their approach to brutes. The uncultivated 
and ruder nations have been nmch the same in every 
age of the world ; and no argument can be drawn 
from any of them, of any moment in the present con- 
troversy. Their virtues and vices have been found 
nearly on a balance, such as nature has always laid the 
foundation for, and external accidents alone ripened in- 
to action. # It is more than probable that the barba- 
rous ages in question were faithfully copied by the wild 
Indians, in the state wherein they were discovered by 
Americus and Columbus ; by no means patterns for a 
race thaj has the privilege of reason. 



zat o-axpgoviHoi, Hat avfytiot, nat r'aXXa £p£o/*ev evBvs 8* ysvErrig' aKKa. 6 o[aoo$-- 
tyntptv 'enpv ?i, to xvgwg ctyaSot. tmt. Aristot, Eth. lib. vi. 



124 [Chap. xiii. 

Many have been much possessed with a great opini- 
on of what is called a state of nature, without refine- 
ment ; imagining vices to be the work of time, and the 
simpler ages to have been patterns of purity, where 
law the public curb, and reason the private and fami- 
liar monitor, were not invited to check the unruly pas- 
sions of nature : but this notion, upon examination, 
appears to be false and ideal. A state of nature is a 
state of war, confusion, and anarchy. But for reason, 
tygers, lions, and wolves, had been men as well as we. 

It has been the fate of the most celebrated nations, 
that are known, to experience a fluctuation of virtues 
and vices, of prosperity and adversity, a revolution and 
return to their former condition, as Plutarch has long- 
since observed ; which, upon the whole, has worked 
but little change on tfce aggregate race of man. An 
irruption into England or France, by banditti of bar- 
barians, would probably deprive their rising generati- 
ons of what advantages they have derived from two 
thousand years, by the destruction of public records, 
the desolation of war, the loss of liberty, and the in- 
fection and tyranny of brutal manners. Rome and 
Greece are standing and convincing monuments of such 
a downfall. 

Human nature has been in all ages a motley mix- 
ture of light and shade. The genius of science has no 
chosen spot for perpetual residence ; and, however par- 
ticular causes have generated particular virtues, pecu- 
liar vices have been seen in their train. A total and 
universal change in the character of man is a prodigy 



Chap. xiii.\ 125 

as little to be expected, as that a brute should reason 
or a fish should fly ; and though a few individuals may 
have been wrought on differently in different ages, men, 
collectively, ever have been, and ever will be, men. 
Antiquity may have been celebrated for its roughness, 
and the moderns for the softer refinements ; yet, on the 
whole, their virtues and vices seem to have nearly 
counterpoised each other, and great preference allowed 
to the former can be looked on but as a fond partiality, 
lit only for a Lipsius to cherish, who hated every thing 
that was modern ; and as very a folly as to be dying in 
love for Helen or Cleopatra, the former of whom had 
only an apology for a nose,^ and the latter was a 

gypsy- 

This general opinion of human degeneracy seems to 
have flowed partly from a natural partiality we all en- 
tertain for what is past and out of our reach ; f and 
partly from tradition and the fictions of the poets, 
such as Hesiod and Ovid, who have beautifully sung of 
the different ages. If we take notice of what ideas 
we have amused ourselves with in the course of our 
own private lives, or make observation on those who 
are advanced in years, we shall find very strong, though 

* It is related of this celebrated lady, (I hope my fair readers 
will not burst with envy,) that she was so extravagantly delicate, 
as to have only two holes, by way of nostrils, in the room of that 
ugly prominence inferior beauties bear about them. 

t Virtutem incolumem odimus ; 

Sublatam ex oculis quaerimus invidi. 

Horat. I. in. od. 23» 



126 [Chap, xiii* 

secret, traces of a partiality for former times. Every 
succeeding stage of life suffers in our approbation 
when compared with that which went before, whether 
there be just cause for the preference given, or not. 
Aged people, in particular, are exceedingly prone to 
extol what they saw and did in their youth, as more ex- 
traordinary and memorable than the actions and scenes 
exhibited by their rising progeny. The focus of their 
minds, like that of their eyes, to indulge a puerile com- 
parison, increases in distance by the accumulating flat- 
ness of their organs, by which they see things afar off 
in the most favorable light, and they need external as- 
sistance for their mental decays, as well as additional 
convexity from optics, to clear their visual ray. The 
value of every action, the beauty of every scene, is 
exaggerated by length of time, and derives from it ad- 
ditional lustre; a fortunate circumstance for Raphael, 
or an inferior master of Italy, whose colors and strokes 
are found more beautiful for age ; which is an advan- 
tage the works of Nature cannot boast of. 

Such prejudices are visible in the progress of public 
and private affairs, and the notions of men in both 
those respects are built on the same foundation. The 
humor is old, and has been noticed upwards of three, 
thousand years ago. The Grecian Nestor, who lived 
three ages, if Fame and the poets are not given to 
lying, thought little of the heroes who accompanied 
him to the siege of Troy, when he compared them in 
his mind with those he knew when a stripling. An 
Ajax, who could hurl a rock ; a Stentor, whose voice 



Chap, cciii.] 127 

would have reached from the Grecian camp to either 
pole ; a Diomede, who wounded a goddess and sent her 
whimpering away ; and an Achilles, who was so asto- 
nishingly spirited as to sit still in great wrath during 
the greatest part of the war, because they took his girl 
from him ; were all nothing to their predecessors in he- 
roism. 

The last reason assigned for this prejudice, the fic- 
tions of the poets, founded on tradition, may to some 
appear insufficient to contribute to such an effect. But 
we are to consider what influence the poets had in for- 
mer times. It is well known that their works were in- 
strumental in forming schemes of religion ; and that, 
particularly among the vulgar, the most ridiculous and 
absurd of their fables gained credit with the people. 
Poetry was esteemed sacred, and the poets, or bards, 
were accounted the ambassadors of heaven. It is not, 
then, surprising that a prettily-fancied story of golden, 
silver, brazen, and iron, ages, should have been in some 
degree seriously received, especially as it implied a 
more innocent state, in which man was originally 
placed, in vindication of the divine Architect, 



128 [Chap, xiv 



CHAPTER XIV. 



On Conjectural Metaphysics. 



To warn philosophers not to coin new words, and trifle 

about what they do not comprehend. Lucian. 

For it cannot be, that our thoughts should reach the height 4 - 

of first principles. Simplicius. 



Never does a dwarf more naturally excite derision 
by his diminutive apearance, than when he stands un- 
happily contrasted by the side of a giant. Had the 
frog in Esop been content with the ordinary size of 
his brother frogs, without aspiring at the stature of an 
ox, he might not only have escaped the scorn attend- 
ing on unsuccessful ambition, but have even deserved 
a compliment on his superiority over a fly for magni- 
tude.^ — JNot the sarcastic insult, but the salutary cau- 
tion, contained in this fable, would I throw in the way 



Chap, xiv.] 129 

some philosophers; those, 1 'mean, who, trusting too 
much to the wings of their contemplation, fancy they 
can soar to heights beyond the reach of a son of 
Daedalus. 

When men of genius and judgement exercise their 
talents in forming systems of morality, on the basis 
of justice, and on principles of general utility ; when 
they amuse themselves with researches into the world 
of astronomy, and investigate the properties of motion, 
by mathematic aid ; or when, in pursuit of knowledge, 
they dive into the bowels of the earth, and instruct 
themselves in the phenomena that are to be found in 
the province of natural history ; ihey add to their stock 
of real knowledge, and are in a capacity to make ad- 
vances in what they undertake for the subject of their 
inquiries. By these, and similar disquisitions, which 
depend on certain and incontrovertible principles, and 
are open to industry and experiment, the cause of 
learning is served, man becomes actually wiser, and, 
which is a pleasure denied the ideal and brain-sick phi- 
losopher, the inquirer is rewarded with satisfaction for 
his labors. 

How much the reverse is the lot of those, who think 
ihey can reduce to system the uncertain and imaginary 
positions of metaphysics, which are advanced in the 
-doctrine of iirst causes, of the essence of the Deity, 
and of the abstract properties of intelligence ! If we 
examine the works of these airy adventurers, and place 
ourselves under their tuition and instruction, with a 
vifcw to extend our views in the mental world, instead 

K 



130 [Chap. xiv. 

of meeting the expected lights we flatter ourselves will 
illuminate our paths, we are involved in contradic- 
tions, wilds, and intricacies, from which we would 
with pleasure retreat, could we discover the winding 
road again that led us astray. If a man has a ladder 
to assist him in mounting a height without it inacces- 
sible, he is not the object of derision for attempting to 
scale it ; but to lose his time and pains in a fruitless 
exploit is an example of Quixotism fit only for a wild 
metaphysician to engage in. 

There are parts of metaphysics in which the deduc- 
tions of reason and experience lend a clue to direct 
the curious inquirer ; from which, some actual infor- 
mation may be derived. Under this head may Locke's 
observations on the human understanding be consider- 
ed ; where he reasons of the generation and connexion 
of ideas, the propriety of conclusions drawn from 
given sensations, the impossibility of having any ideas 
without the previous action of the organs of the body, * 

* That the mind of man, previous to the information of the 
senses, is a tabula rasa, a blank, without ideas, without knowledge, 
is a doctrine too well supported by this great master of reason to 
suffer a shock. It has been, notwithstanding, attacked, with ar 
guments drawn from professor Saunderson, who excelled in the 
mathematics, and was acquainted with the properties of cones, 
cylinders, squares, circles, &c. though blind from a year old. 
The following reply to Mr. Locke's opponent is submitted to the 
ingenious reader's judgement. 

To the Author of the Royal Magazine, 

Sir, In your Magazine for August, 1760, we find some animad- 
versions on Mr. Locke's hypothesis, that ideas arise only from 



Chap, xiv.] 131 

and the like demonstrable doctrines, which are within 
the circle of man's capacity, and compose a system 
without chimera and conjecture. Of a different 

sensation and reflection : which, he apprehends, is disproved in 
the person of professor Saunderson, who was Wind from a twelve- 
month old, and, according to him, incapable of being supplied by 
his senses at that time. But there are two reasons, I would insist 
on, which induce me to think his determination a little too pre- 
cipitate. 

First, then, it may be inquired, whether there be no connexion, 
similarity, or communication, between the senses, by which, upon 
defect of one of these direct vehicles of idea, another may, indi- 
rectly, in some measure, supply its place. To me it appears more 
than probable that there is. Feeling and tasting are esteemed dif- 
ferent senses : yet I humbly conceive, that, if the latter were lost, 
the former might partly perform its office ; and that the acrimoni- 
ous pungency of salt to the taste may be distantly represented by 
its asperity to the touch. Add to this, the pertinent conclusion 
of a Danish physician, [Hagerup,] who maintained, that a man 
might hear by means of his teeth, in the following manner. If 
you stop your ears close, and an iron bar be grated near you, the 
sound is lost ; but if it be applied to the teeth, and touch them, 
the effect will be very sensible. This experiment, though it be 
not strictly admitted, will illustrate the point in question. 

If the above reasons are at all conclusive, as to me they appear 
to be, they will confirm, and be confirmed by, another conside- 
ration, what additional help Saunderson must have received from 
the circumstance of his retaining his sight a year after his birth : 
which is the second argument I would offer, without the other to 
corroborate it, preferable to a rejection of so well-received an 
hypothesis. 

As to the conclusion, I heartily subscribe to it. — That the 
whole creation is a, series of wonders, above human comprehen- 
sion : and that, though the sagacity of man has discovered that 
sensation is the fountain of ideas, yet, how that sensation is per- 
formed, is a process he is at a loss to account for. 

K 2 



132 [Chap. xiv. 

kind are some doctrines, which have been dignified 
with the name of science, a name applicable only to 
what is to be known by man.— - Systematical positions 
of uncertainties are what I mean should be rejected ; 
arguments drawn from the futile circumstances of hu- 
manity, and applied to illustrate the intentions, nature, 
and actions, of Deity ; properties of knowable effects 
predicated af hidden causes, not cognizable by the 
most subtle examination, and farther perplexed the 
more they are discussed. To dive into this conjectural 
part of metaphysics is but to reproach our reason with 
its weakness, and to court disappointment. The inex- 
plicable maze, the apparent contradictions, in which 
our sagacity is lost when it would comprehend the se- 
crets of superior wisdom, should by this time have 
taught our men of learning that there are some things 
above their capacity, however they may flatter them- 
selves with the extent of it. The best and most hir 
genious plan of theocracy that ever was published has 
its perplexities. It may be expected that some in- 
stance of this should be given. Instances are ready at 
hand, and easy to be produced. We will adduce a very 
familiar one. The established and much admired 
scheme of Providence, as given by Pope in his Essay 
on Man, may seem to satisfy at first, but it is calcu- 
lated only to amuse inattention. In this scheme we 
are told, that a provision by general laws cannot ex- 
clude particular evils ; and that it thence necessarily 
follows, that some evilsr must be endured by the very 
nature of such a general constitution. But alas ! how 



Chap, mv.] 133 

weak are our strongest reasonings ! An unfortunate 
question here starts up, Why it should be the will of 
the Deity to act by general, in preference to particular, 
laws i Till such a query is satisfactorily answered, I 
cannot be of opinion that our imperfect systems of phi- 
losophy can account for every instance of Arimanian 
leaven the universe presents to us. When I am favor- 
ed with an unanswerable solution of the difficulty, I 
shall think myself much wiser than before, and pro- 
strate myself before the explainer as a superior being, 
But it is not from metaphysics I expect it. The light 
must proceed from that Fountain of intelligence which 
is entitled to our homage without the charge of ido- 
latry. Must then the boasted philosopher be dumb ? 
— Yes : he has but to lament his own littleness, and to 
make a merit of his modesty. To search farther into this 
secret were as vain and fruitless as reiterated attempts to 
see through a mill-stone, which cannot be effected by 
the help of our present optics. — Some, more subtle and 
ingenious than their neighbours, as the easiest way to 
explain the existence of a God, deny it. This is, in- 
deed, plunging into a river to escape a shower. An 
author who wrote about a century ago, in his chapter 
of atheists, asserts, on the testimony of another, that 
there were computed to be fifty thousand in the city of 
Paris only ; I am sorry to add, if his author asserted 
a truth, there was at least the same number of fools. 
Atheism is the top of absurdity. The doctrine of an 
anima mundi, or that man is a part of God, is infi- 
nitely wiser than atheism. — What greater difficulty 



134 [Chap. xiv. 

is there in conceiving the existence of a Deity, than in 
conceiving our own existence I We know that we 
exist : we see traces of wisdom superior to our bright- 
est intellects, instances of design we could never have 
devised, and yet some of our race have been weak 
enough to reject the positive evidence of their senses, 
in favor of negative conclusions, contrary to the laws 
of both reason and jurisprudence. 

Not to rest on one example of difficulties that set 
our reason at deiiance, we may ask, who, after all the 
arguments wasted on the subject, can digest the idea 
of creation in time, or existence from eternity, when 
applied to visible, tangible, matter ? An universal va- 
cuum is the only possible idea man can form, as to 
conceive nothing is the easiest conception; and even 
that is loaded with the embargo of space, which is ele- 
gantly termed, the sensorium of God. Neither the sa- 
gacious gloss of a Newton, which leaves us the evidence 
of experience and our senses ; nor the subtleties of a 
Berkeley, which put them to flight ; can overleap that 
bourne of our understandings, which separates Deity 
from the encroachments of humanity. 

There are many other points in this department 
of science, which are thus involved in darkness, to ex- 
tricate ourselves from which we are quite at a loss 
whether we shall throw by our senses, or not; but 
these two shall suffice to shew that there are clouds that 
still do, and ever will, obscure the sunshine of meta- 
physical philosophy. The great secret, that pallid 
looks and meagre face derive to the inquirer from these 



Chap, xiv.] 135 

reveries, is only this, that he knows nothing of the mat- 
ter. He finds, indeed, that he has travelled a great 
way, but has die mortification to be informed, that he 
is not a whit nearer the goal than when he first set out. 
He is as much bewildered, with all his philosophy 
about him, as the man, who simply ' wondered how 
houses came at first J 

What I have restrictively alleged against parts of 
this science has been comprehensively applied, by an 
illustrious writer, to the whole. l As to metaphysics, 
they are a bubble of air. They are a country, in which 
a traveller is lost amongst precipices and abysses : and I 
am persuaded that Nature never intended us for her privy- 
counsellors, but as ministers to execute her plans.' # 

When our common experience, or when arguments 
that will not brook an objection, evince a truth, by 
the assistance of rational logic, our pains are well be- 
stowed. The existence of a superior power, for ex- 
ample, is a thing so certain to an observer of his works, 
and, at the same time, a point of such moment to man- 
kind, as to call aloud for the exercise of our mental 
faculties to consider it. But it is not a consequence, 
that man is either able or obliged to explain the nature 
of that Power so loudly proclaimed. + — In the pre- 

* Pour la metaphysique, c'est — un ballon enfle de vent. Quand 
on fait tant que de voyager dans ce pays-la, on s'egare entre des 
precipices et des abymes : et je me persuade, que la Nature ne 
nous a point faits pour dcvincr ses secrets, mais pour co-operer au 
plan qu'elle s'est propose" d'executer. Fr. R. de P. 

t Tenuis enim natura deum, Iongeque rcmota 
Sensibus a nostris, animi vix mente videtur. 

Lucrct. lib* t>. 



I3t> [Chap, xiv, 

sent sublunary scene of things, there are certain conve- 
niences and fitnesses, certain appearances and regulari- 
ties, which flatter and amuse within the human sphere, 
but would become eccentric in an uncircumscribed 
orb. As well might we, like children, fancy that the 
great Author of all is clothed in robes of purple or 
scarlet, because they are beautiful colors, as apply our 
mean ideas for the measures and standards of his im- 
mensity. 

To compare great things with small, we will, with 
some authors, # consider the human soul as an epitome 
of the Deity, as it is the seat of intelligence, and the 
nearest pattern of him we can imagine. Yet how 
much at a loss are we to conceive the properties of 
this fragment of intelligence ! It appears a task as ar- 
duous for the soul to dive into itself, as for a man to 
bear himself up into the air without external assist- 
ance. Surely, then, if we arc unable to comprehend 
our own intellectual part, we must be in a perfect in- 
capacity to settle the properties of supreme intelli- 
gence, f 

If the truth were known, the doubts of many a sim- 
ple atheist are to be attributed to nothing so much as 
to the imperfect systems formed on this subject, and 
set up as standard doctrine. Whereas, instead of de- 
scribing what they could not comprehend, had our phi- 
losophers more insisted on the inexplicable nature of 

* 2u efGroo-nruc-fAa a. m ©sa. Arrian. I. ii. c. 8. 

t Ouroog v$e nmv t8 avS'ga>t*ry i'srayrzhiav 7rtogci)<Tcu Swafxivoi, vr^oa-XafxCavo- 
/otev twv ra <$>i\oo-o<pu, rn"Kmyro <f/o£Tiov, oiov Bi rig, haa AiTga? agai pn Swaps- 
'©•*, tov T« Aittvros ?u0ov @atra&iv >30eXfv, Arrian. I. XU c. 2. 



Chap, xiv.] 137 

the Deity, and respectfully left it in that inaccessible 
and avveful retreat wherein they found it, modesty 
would not have suffered these wavering minds to doubt 
of what is more out of the reach of their calculations 
than the unknown quantity in algebra, and not to be 
brought to light by the most subtle deductions. But 
weakly taking for granted, that the best systems of 
metaphysics that hod been published were the best that 
could be formed, even by a being of superior sagacity, 
they rejected them all, together with the basis on which 
they stood, from motives of dissatisfaction. 

This confidence in our own judgements is common 
to us with every creature. It is natural for us to think 
the conceptions we have formed perfectly adequate to 
truth : prejudice must appear under its colors, or it 
could not meet an asylum. The brute creation che- 
rish some peculiar notions, incident to their condition, 
and regulate their actions in conformity with those no- 
tions. Every idle conception of theirs they doubtless 
are as Avell satisfied with as we are with the sprightliest 
efforts of our boasted reason. They are guided by in- 
stinct, and the bias of some trifling circumstance, 
which together constitute a knowledge not capable of 
universal application, from the absurdity of the data 
they assume. From these brutes, with the learned Gro- 
tius, we will borrow a hint ; and conclude that, as they 
cannot comprehend the nature of man, but, on the 
contrary, entertain ridiculous ideas of him, so neither 
ought we to be too forward in undertaking to unravel 
the mysteries of the Deity, who is infinitely more dis- 
tant from us than we are from the brute creation. 



138 [Chap.xiv. 

Though the late lord Bolingbroke deserves the cen- 
sor's lash for those parts of his works where he dis- 
turbs revelation, the pleasing shade he has thrown cm 
nature, in other passages of his writings, by vindicating 
the conduct of the Deity from his necessary physical 
attributes only, which are to be cautiously handled, 
may be deemed beneficial to natural religion. That 
his lordship was an utter enemy to revelation, is most 
certain ; but it does not appear that he had the smallest 
tincture of atheism. So far from it, that he has con- 
tributed to dispel that gloom that the supposed ab- 
sence of a deity would spread over the minds of men : 
and he is, upon the whole, the most cheerful, if not the 
most temperate, deistical writer this nation has produced. 

The ay hole of this dispute brings to mind the ludi- 
crous story that is related of St. Basil. Once on a 
time, a conceited pretender to science troubled that ve- 
nerable father with vaunting boasts, that he knew the 
nature of God. The good orthodox bishop, to curb 
his vanity, instead of entering on a discussion of so 
abstruse a subject, began by examining him about 
humbler points, and puzzled him with three and twenty 
questions concerning the body of an ant. I fear this 
might have been the case of many a more skilful, and 
less vain, pretender than this empty man. 

The words of Ovid will probably be quoted by 
some, as a short and sufficient answer to this whole 
chapter : 

• Nee tarn 

Turpe fuit vinci quam contendisse decorum est : 



Chap. xiv.~\ 139 

and urged as an apology for every the most extrava- 
gant exercise of curiosity. A thirst after knowledge, 
and, in consequence, every attempt to advance it, will 
my opponent urge, is laudable in the very intention of 
it. This shall be allowed. I profess myself as great 
an advocate for inquiry as any one : and only mean to 
insinuate that, as there are some things which elude hu- 
man sagacity, it is the mark of a wise man not eter- 
nally to pursue what with equal pace flies before him, 
has fled before eVery one who has undertaken the chase, 
and has all the appearance of an endless repetition of 
the same delusion ; and to warn men not to advance 
for certainty what, after all, may be but the creation of 
a fertile fancy ; since, by separating doubtful positions 
from real knowledge, we as much serve the cause of 
the latter, as we mend our wheat by removing from it 
the tares that choke it. 



140 [Chap. xv. 



CHAPTER XV. 



The unreasonable Compliments paid to the 
Antients for their Works, exemplified in 
Homer. 



Good old Homer takes his naps. 

Horace. 



Among the accusations to be laid to the account of 
prejudice, the preference adjudged to the antients for 
genius, as well as virtue, may make no inconsiderable 
figure. Their innocence, their courage, their skill in 
writing, have been extolled as superior to our modern 
accomplishments, and proposed as the proper standards 
by which those several excellences are to be estimated. 
This partiality is in no instance more notorious than in 
the character given to the Iliad, which has been, by 
many succeeding writers, pronounced the most perfect 



Chap, xv.] 141 

piece of poetry that was ever penned. This, therefore, 
we will fix on, to exemplify the effects of literary pre- 
judice. 

Few authors have received their laurels in their life- 
time : that compliment has been generally reserved for 
their statues. Possibly the world may have judged it 
preposterous to honor any one with an apotheosis be- 
fore his death. Homer was once a ballad-singer ; is 
now a bard. Shakespear lived a precarious hireling. 
Milton's divine poem lay long neglected, and was sold 
for a song. Otway lived and died in a corner. Cer- 
vantes passed his days in obscurity and poverty, a re- 
proach to Spain. The first of English philosophers* 
the immortal Newton, needed the officious kindness of 
a Barrow to announce his merit. Praise is slower in 
its progress than censure, because retarded by the clog 
of envy and contention, which time alone, that subdues 
all things, can remove. The case is the same in the 
moral, as in the natural, world. The sun never exhibits 
so large a disk as when on the point of leaving our he- 
misphere. 

In fixing on Homer, I will premise, that I have made 
him a representative, in general, of those authors w 7 ho 
have acquired a prejudged hereditary admiration. It is 
not, in fact, Homer, so much as prejudice; that claims 
our censures, visible in many established opinions. His 
happiness, when he is considered as a complete epic 
poet, like that of many of the antients, consists in 
coming first into the world. The eldest son in a family 
runs away with the patrimony, to the loss of those who 



142 [Chap. xv. 

have the misfortune to come later into the world; and 
the first-bom authors have been favored by custom with 
the same privilege. But that is a precedent in literary 
laws not backed by reasons so good as family ones. 

Not in poetry alone, in painting and statuary, a fan- 
cied superiority has been allowed the predecessors in 
those arts. We will not deny their having such fine 
performances among them as would have done honor 
to any age or nation ; but to grant them the merit of 
exclusive excellence is injustice to their competitors 
for fame. Have not men the same hands as formerly, 
and more improvements in understanding? the same 
fingers and nerves, and more models to copy from ; 
and are not those arts as much cultivated as hereto- 
fore ? To what charm then can this superiority, or this 
prepossession, be attributed? The works of a Rey- 
nolds, a Roubillac, a Casali, and a Pine, ought to have 
banished so ridiculous a prejudice. 

The most tolerable and plausible reasons for a par- 
tiality for the old writers are drawn from a principle of 
tenderness. The infant state of learning, it may be 
urged, ought to experience the same mild treatment 
which is shewn to infant babes. I should allow the 
full extent of this plea in any case where a comparison 
with others did not interfere, and consider them under 
all the disadvantages of inexperience. But the re- 
spect due to candor will oblige us to own, that it is as 
improper to set up such infant authors, with all their 
inaccuracies, for perfect models, as it would be to 
present a boy seven years old for a specimen of a per- 



Chap, xv .] 143 

feet man. I know not in what light our critics of the 
male gender would view such a pattern, but I am very 
certain the ladies would reject it as a very insufficient 
one. 

Many an old writer, who has deserved admiration 
for real beauties, has had his reputation sullied by 
those who applaud him for imaginary ones : by which, 
instead of his being indebted to his panegyrists for 
their praises, they have given occasion for doubts and 
censures where he least deserved them. This is a cir- 
cumstance notoriously the case of a celebrated English 
dramatic poet. As if Shakespear had not interspersed 
beauties enough to merit our applause, his very faults 
have been erected into perfections, and idolised. A 
manner of expressing approbation designed indeed to 
serve the author, but really tending to injure him. 
The most effectual way to expose a lady that has her 
blemishes, is to extol her for a paragon of beauty. 
She would soon experience the bad consequence of the 
intemperate encomiums passed on her, in the merciless 
criticisms her envied representation raised. Not that 
I intend to insinuate a want of beauties in this ornament 
of our country : he has too many shining excellencies to 
need a compliment on his puns, quaintnesses, and other 
puerilities, found in his works. Probably, this indis- 
creet zeal for favorite authors may have secretly in- 
duced so puny a critic as myself to have dealt, with a 
misgiving heart and trembling hand, a few well-meant 
censures on the Grecian bard, which I would not for 



144 [Chap. 9cv. 

for the world have to be construed as the effects of 
envy, or a malevolent itch for detraction. 

But to come to our purpose. I will begin by re- 
marking, that my aim is only to direct the praise, that 
has been so profusely lavished on this classic, to a pro- 
per object ; to oppose the genius of Homer to the per- 
fection of the Iliad: which I hope will bear the as- 
pect of good-nature and candor. That his genius was 
great, none but a Scaliger would deny, who sacrificed 
the reputation of him and other poets at the shrine of 
his favorite Juvenal. Envy herself would scarcely 
have the effrontery to disown that his pinions were 
formed to reach the very top of Parnassus ; and that 
nothing but the iniquity of the time in which he lived 
retarded his flight. Where he does exert himself, 
which is not seldom, he is superlatively lofty ; his ima- 
ges are bold, and his expression is admirable. Not- 
withstanding, the same genius, which has inspired him 
with the greatest beauties, has likewise hurried him on 
to the grossest absurdities. His rude masses of dia- 
monds are intermixed with heaps of rubbish. It will 
be a distinct charge, not affecting his genius, to assert 
that he was deficient in judgement and choice, as there 
are many glaring proofs of it visible throughout his 
poem. This accusation is applicable to our Milton 
himself, whose opportunities of improving on his pre- 
decessors were no inconsiderable advantages over them, 
and therefore it ought not to surprise if Homer de- 
served it. The Greek poet is fond of a simile to ex- 
cess. He not only abounds in that figure, but often 



Chap, xv, .] 145 

adopts comparisons ridiculous, improper, and mean. 
Sometimes his similitude is less striking than the thing 
or circumstance compared ; a fault that destroys the 
very intention of it, which is to paint in the most live- 
ly colors what we would represent. Provided the re- 
semblance be pretty or striking, it matters not whether 
a sublime or heavenly form be compared to a fami- 
liar or earthly one, or vice versa; but there must be a 
vivacity in the simile : for example, we may compare 
the morning to a blushing maid, or a blushing maid to 
the morning, without an affront to either ; but it would 
be an indignity to both to liken them to the red bricks 
of a house, or to a bunch of carrots. Homer, and 
many of the antients besides Homer, who dealt too 
largely in similies, have been, at times, betrayed into 
like improprieties. 

Another principal objection to be alleged against 
the Iliad is, not only a nauseous sameness in the story ; 
a perpetual kill, kill, kill, fight, fight, fight, in which 
all his heroes are equal to Mars ; but likewise an eter- 
nal jingle of the same words : which fault is eminently 
conspicuous in the catalogue of the black ships des- 
tined for the expedition against Troy. It is to be sup- 
posed, that what the poet did in that particular he es- 
teemed a beauty, and that, from a mistaken notion, he 
imagined his repetitions would grace his poem : which 
is a pity indeed, as a genius, like Homer's, might have 
suggested a variety of descriptions, had not his want 
tof judgement misled him. 

i . 



146 [Chap. xv. 

I am unwilling to animadvert on the absurdity of the 
fable, where the gods interpose in a most ridiculous 
manner in the affairs of his heroes, and are wounded 
by mortals, as I apprehend we are indebted to their 
visible presence for some of the most shining descrip- 
tions. It has been long since observed that Homer 
makes men of his gods, and gods of his men. It 
were to be wished, too, that he, as well as Milton, had 
less insisted on the penchant both those orders of 
beings had to fill their bellies, as it is a circumstance 
bringing with it the most humiliating ideas, and there- 
fore justly censured by a modern critic. # 

Among the beauties inspired by the presence of the 
gods may be numbered that celebrated passage noticed 
by Longinus and others, in the beginning of the twen- 
tieth book, where the divinities, enlisted on both sides, 
assemble, to take part in the fight. What an awe does 
the poet there excite in the mind by the loftiness and 
terror of his description. Pluto himself did not start 
with greater amaze at the tremendous concussion, 
caused by the descent of the immortals from Olympus, 
than will a reader wearied by a round of unvaried de- 
scription before, and unprepared for so grateful a 
change. 

No want of genius has yet been, or shall at all be, 
imputed to Homer ; only a want of variety in the Iliad. 
He has discovered an ability for changing his scenes ; 
would he had oftener exercised that ability, for the relief 

* See Dr. Newton's notes on Milton, 



Chap, xv.] 1 47 

of his readers. We find he could be soft and lender, 
as well as grand, when he pleased. His picture of the 
infant Astyanax turning from his father Hector, on 
account of his grim appearance when in armor, is a 
proof of it. Such a trifling incident, simply de- 
scribed, has more real beauty in it than whole pages of 
pompous declamation. 

The beginning of the poem is so esteemed as to have 
been copied by Virgil, Tryphiodorus, Milton, and 
others; not to mention the imitations of other parts 
made by Calaber. They were all so much his admi- 
rers, as to draw from his fountain. The prayer of the 
venerable Chryses, priest of Apollo, to his god ; his 
silent grief for the contumelious treatment of Aga- 
memnon ; and that chief's refusal to restore him his* 
daughter, Chryseis ; are all naturally and affectingly de- 
scribed; and I cannot at all join in opinion with a 
late author, whose name, if published, has escaped my 
memory, when he asserts that the line expressing that: 
silent grief of the old priest is the only good one in 
ilomer; as that is doing him great injustice. The pre- 
diction of Priam, setting forth the calamities attending 
the downfall of Troy, is feeling and picturesque ; it is 
misery arrayed in her sablest dress, and horror painted 
in ink. 

On the other hand, I must beg to be excused, if I 
cannot comprehend ail the mysterious beauties and 
hidden excellencies, couched under particular lines and 
words, that some sharp-sighted critics have fathered on 
die innocent poet, where, God knows, he never dreamt 



148 [Chap. xr. 

of them himself. Some of the onomatopoeias he, 
doubtless, intended, but the remark is not levelled at 
them ; there are other discoveries w hich no reader who 
is not a wire-drawing critic could ever have made. It 
is well known to have been the food of commentators, 
to find out what no unbiassed person could see without 
their assistance. How nicely his annotators scanned 
and spelt every word he wrote, may be gathered from 
some of their observations. In the first book there is 
an important discovery of Plutarch's, quoted by Dr. 
Clarke, at which a reader cannot withhold a smile : that 
grave old writer finds out a line containing all the gram- 
matical parts of speech. Though I would not dog- 
matically pronounce, that he supposed this an excel- 
lence, I may safely say it is not at all unusual for an 
annotator to have called such a trifle a beauty in his fa- 
vorite author. Of a piece with this remark is another, 
made, if my memory fail not, by the good archbishop of 
Thessalonica, the venerable Eustathius, on a line which 
begins with a monosyllable, that is followed by a dissyl- 
lable, and so increases in progression to the end. But 
that commentator is always a very loyal trumpeter of 
Homer's fame, if he is not always a very wise one : 
and where we can derive no critical instruction from 
his remarks, we may gather this moral truth, that young 
and old, simple and learned, have alike their rattle. 

But one of the most insufferable of all discoveries, 
is that which would torture out a moral meaning, and 
precepts of virtue, from a poem which does not afford 
the least sanction for it. There is a possibility of being 






Chap, xv.] 149 

too sharp-sighted, as well as too blind. Because Ho- 
rner had lost his sight, and could not see these won- 
ders himself, his critics compassionately perform the 
kind office for him, and generously lend him the use of 
their optics, for the advantage of posterity. It would 
have been surely an agreeable circumstance for this old 
poet, could he have risen from the dead, to be inform- 
ed of many particulars in his own poem to which he 
was a stranger when alive ; and to have thankfully ac- 
knowledged the great obligations he lay under to his 
several friends among his posterity, who have been so 
officious in his behalf, as to have exposed their own 
want of judgement m mis-placed and ill-judged encomi- 
ums, bestowed on an author, for what he never did or 
intended, in spite of truth, decency, and common 
sense. 

What fugitive remarks I have made, for I have in- 
tended no regular critique, are such as result from my 
own private judgement, unbiassed by the fondness of 
commentators, or the carping criticism of professed 
cavillers, those worms of literature. From an impar- 
tial and general survey, I am of opinion, that, under 
all the disadvantages in which Homer labored, his ge- 
nius is deservedly to be extolled ; but that, had a mo- 
dern undertaken to write on the same subject, and ac- 
quitted himself in the same manner, (the memory of 
Homer being obliterated,) his performance would have 
been esteemed a strange medley of genius and absurd- 
ity, of beauty and deformity. Have we him not in 
English to advantage, his admirers will say? Has not 



150 [Chap. xv. 

Pope translated him, and is he not liked in the dress 
that poet has clothed him in? True, he has given 
him in English ; but he has polished him where he 
needed it, and faithfully represented his beauties. The 
bald and uncouth passages he has amended ; and rein- 
forced the whole with his own advantages of judge- 
ment, in such a manner as to have been complimented 
for excelling the original ; which is rarely the case of 
a translator. Had he rendered him more literally, by 
transfusing his faults, as copiously as his beauties, into 
the English edition, many passages, I fear, would have 
appeared, without design, burlesque on epic poetry. 

I have neither attempted to observe on all his faults, 
nor to enumerate all his perfections : what I have 
taken notice of is in support of the view with which I 
set out, of condemning hereditary prejudice : in the 
prosecution of which design, I have been as free in 
my censures, as I have been frank in my acknowledge- 
ments of beauties. Candor is my idol : I still revere, 
as though it were never so new, that worn-out adage, 
Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, sed magis arnica Veri- 
tas. It is almost with regret that I mention the ble- 
mishes of this venerable monument of antiquity; but 
truth is still more venerable. I could with pleasure 
hear an author again and again extol the genius of such 
a poet as Homer, if he would not insist on the perfec- 
tion of his works. It is possible, nay common, for a 
writer to have glaring faults, and yet at the same time 
possess extraordinary talents : the Greek and the En- 
glish poet shall be both our vouchers for it, as that was 



Chap. xv. 1 151 

literally their case. It is not at all astonishing, that at 
the remote period of antiquity in which Homer lived, 
when he had none of the advantages of criticism to 
correct his mistakes, he did not reach perfection in 
every point. He has, unassisted, better acquitted him- 
self than could have been expected from the single 
abilities of one writer so antient; and many of his 
brilliants are lost upon the sight, for want of being 
properly disposed and polished. 

The Odyssey, which has been generally esteemed an 
inferior production, may so far be preferred to the 
Iliads as it contains greater variety in fable and descrip- 
tion. The scenes are different in different parts, and 
the mind is not so surfeited by a disgust which ever 
arises at want of change. And, in point of refine- 
ment, the JEneid has much the advantage of the Iliad, 
though it cannot be opposed to it for originality of ge- 
nius. Notwithstanding, such is the praise due to 
judgement, (which is to be prized as a secondary or ar- 
tificial genius,) that those fine thoughts, which Virgil 
has evidently stolen from Homer, are so extremely 
well dressed by his skill, that they are almost to be con- 
sidered as his own, and none but a Momus would deny 
him his commendation for it. Imitators, by borrowing 
excellences and throwing blemishes aside, (when we 
divest ourselves of prejudice against their servility,) run 
away with their share of praise. It is, in fact, extra- 
ordinary, that he should have played his part so very 
judiciously as we find him to have done. He may, in 
this respect, challenge a superiority over our Milton, 
who was posterior to him in time, and yet has more 



152 [Chap, xv.- 

striking blemishes in his Paradise Lost, as well as more 
unmusical and harsh lines. This latter circumstance 
is perhaps chargeable to the excellence of the Roman 
language, which has dignity and softness combined, 
and is free from the many harsh and guttural words, 
such as, which, zchai, through, Sic. which disgrace our 
tongue. It ought, in my private opinion, to be pre- 
ferred to the Greek itself, which is more licentious, 
rough, and boisterous, and (among ihe poets) loaded 
with an embargo of paltry monosyllables, expletives, 
and enclitics : though I fear the resentment of some 
Hellenistic admirers for what I have advanced. 

The very circumstance of the iEneid's superiority 
over Paradise Lost for correctness (I do not say for 
genius) is, if admitted, an additional argument to 
evince, that peculiar beauties are not confined to par- 
ticular ages. Partial excellences and universal perfec- 
tion are widely different, and there ought to be a 
greater distinction between them than is generally 
made. Had this been always the case, so many pre- 
judices in favor of the antients had not been propa- 
gated from age to age : judgement had not been op- 
posed to genius, nor genius to judgement ; but every 
author and every artist, every age and every nation, had 
enjoyed their share of praise. 

But to what a length has my journey into Greece 
led me ! It is time to begin my return into my own 
country, lest I weary my reader by dragging him so 
far from the place of his nativity, and detaining him 
there, contrary to the laws of justice and his own 
inclination. 



Chap, xvi.] 153 



CHAPTER XVI 



Reflections on Matrimony. 



Our Maker bids increase ; who bids abstain 
But the destroyer, foe to God and man ? 



/ 



Milton, 



Human perverseness, in courting infelicity, is visi- 
ble in many particulars and situations ; but the charge 
is to no condition more applicable than to the connu- 
bial state ; a state which, at a distance, smiles on the 
lover, and promises blessings without limits; but, in 
the end, by overweening expectation, by the frowns of 
Fortune, or by the ingenuity of a sour disposition, too 
frequently cheats him of the promised bliss, and even 
robs him of the last consolation, hope, r which comes 
to all.' 

With casuists, whether celibacy or wedlock be the 
happier state, has been as much the subject of inquiry 



154 [Chap. xvi. 

as any point that was ever contested. To such ques- 
tions it may, in general, be replied, that the human 
mind insensibly and gradually squares itself to, and 
familiarises, every condition. If we desire a more 
particular solution of the problem, the experience of 
two thousand years has not framed a juster than what 
Socrates has left behind him : which implies, that, for 
the generality, zchich ever you do, whether you marry 
or abstain , you will repent.* 

The attracting coyness of the female, (I must be- 
tray my sex,) singled out from the rest of her compa- 
nions, captivates the fond lover's heart, and he mea- 
sures happiness by the standard of her charms : Na- 
ture insidiously avails herself of the glow of youth, and 
the lovers are caught in her toils. Bliss, contrary to 
other appearances, seems more considerable at a dis- 
tance. The happiness attending the completion of the 
lover's wish, if he is given to sanguine expectation, 
proves, in process of time, inadequate to the great 
conceptions he had formed, and his disappointment 
diminishes his wished felicity. That delicacy which at 
first allured him is gone. Familiarity breeds con- 
tempt. Under the rose lurks the prickly thorn. Lo- 
vers dwindle, men into husbands, women into wives. 
These are the evils that await untutored minds, f 

(jLttaywrr). Diog\ Laert. 

t Sperat infestis, metuit secundis, 
Alteram sortem, bene praeparatum 
Pectus. Hor. lib. ii. od. 10. 



Chap. xvi.~\ 155 

When Nature is called on to answer all the demands 
of those her greedy creditors, hopes and wishes, she 
is constrained to own herself a bankrupt. 

The celibate, alike unsatisfied with his situation, 
fancies, and with reason, that there are sweets in wed- 
ded love, which his solitary lot has deprived him of. 
He has no partner to share his bed and his thoughts ; 
no bosom-friend in whom to repose his confidence. 
Unblessed with the cheering influence of that passion 
which is a refinement on friendship, he wanders about, 
a vagabond without an owner, and feels the earth 
groan under him as a burden. 

But whether or not marriage be a point of indiffer- 
ence in the mind of an individual, the promotion of it 
is certainly of great moment as a concern of state, and 
even when considered in a moral light ; and on those 
accounts merits the attention of the public, as well as 
of individuals. Every one that does not, when oppor- 
tunity allows him, contribute his mite to the general 
cause, robs the state of members and the universe of 
beings. He lives on the common stock, and meanly 
refuses to enhance its riches. 

A great cause for this desertion is the blindness of 
Fortune in conferring her favors. On the laborious 
and needy man, who is not unnerved by luxury, she 
frequently bestows children without number ; and from 
him, who rolls in wealth, withholds even an heir to hi* 
possessions, because, as a celebrated physician has ob- 
served, he waters his plants with spices. To remedy 
this unequal distribution is the business of legislature. 



156 [Chap. xvi. 

The example was long ago set by the Romans, in a 
distribution of a stated sum for a more than equal bur- 
den of children, and recommendations to imitate that 
example have been urged by several writers. A fund 
ought, in justice, to be established for the assistance 
of those needy members who have been too successful 
in their labors for the public good, to which every 
one, and in particular those who are single, should be 
obliged to contribute. The burden would then be 
divided. 

This might be a state-remedy to render the condition 
of marriage more comfortable, which is all that laws can 
do. The counter-part to public endeavors after this 
end, is a readiness in those who have given the mutual 
pledge of affection to exert their good-nature, and 
strive to please the partners of their, lives. But that 
disposition is not so general as were to be wished. It 
is found to be the principal employment of many an 
ill-mated pair to labor to disturb each other's repose, 
by way of qualifying what they esteem a bitter potion. 
Where friends and neighbours, brothers and sisters, 
would agree, husband and wife are seen at variance. 

But, perhaps, a sprightly intermixture of gay re- 
flexion may relieve the reader's mind : it is not the ge- 
nius of the age to be wedded to dull morality. On 
the subject of matrimony there is a little poem, so re- 
plete with beautiful turns, brilliant thoughts, and per- 
tinent reflexions, that I would even labor to introduce 
it, in spite of the critic's lash, and in contempt of pro- 
priety ; and, rather than not revive the memory of it, 



Chap, xvi.'l 157 

force it on the reader, if it has escaped his notice. 
Were I to reveal a secret, I would own that I chose 
to descant on the subject for the sake of my author's 
beauties. The poem has been some years made public, 
amongst others, though it has not been noticed accord- 
ing to its merit ; perhaps on account of the pious cha- 
racter of the author, whose seat allotted him on Par- 
nassus has not been conspicuous or elevated, however 
well he has acquited himself in the little piece I am 
about to subjoin. Now, Proteus-like, will I change 
the form I at first assumed, and take on me that of a 
scholiast. — That nothing may be lost, we will begin 
with the exordium, though it contains no moral senti- 
ment for the purpose of information. 

Say, mighty love, and teach my song 
To whom thy sweetest joys belong; 

And who the happy pairs, 
Whose yielding hearts and joining hands 
Find blessings twisted with their bands, 

To soften all their cares ? 

After this invocation, our author proceeds to enume- 
rate the several evils that await unpromising choices ; 
and begins with the most common error, want of re- 
flection. 

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains 
That, thoughtless, fly into the chains, 

As custom leads the way. 
If there be bliss without design, 
Ivies and oaks may grow and twine, 

And be as blest as they. 



158 [Chap. xvi. 

This is a picture of the greater part of marriages in 
general. It is notorious that many young pairs are in- 
fluenced by no motive but that of opportunity. A fre- 
quenting the same company, a next-door residence, or 
any the most trivial circumstance, has laid the founda- 
tion of numberless alliances, without any other choice 
than that of either rejecting or embracing the matri- 
monial state. A man, or a zcoman, in these cases, is 
the object of wishes, not a faithful partner. The hap- 
piness attending such a combination must, in course, 
be merely casual. 

Not sordid souls of earthly mould, 
Who, drawn by kindred charms of gold, 

To dull embraces move. 
So two rich mountains of Peru 
May rush to wealthy marriage too, 

And make a world of love. 

The marrying gold, instead of a human being, has 
been long the subject of satire, and in all probability 
will long continue so. Husbands and wives buy each 
other by weight, as they would the basest commodi- 
ties. — But if our adventurer pays his devotion to the 
god Plutus alone, he must not expect that Venus will 
hear his petitions in his stead, and shower her blessings 
on the worshipper of another deity. The ingeniously 
ludicrous idea my author has given t)f this choice de- 
serves a plaudit. 

Not the mad tribe which lust inspires 
With wanton flames : those raging tires 
The purer bliss destroy. 






Chap. xvi.\ 159 

On ^Etna's top let furies wed, 
And sheets of light'ning dress the bed, 
T'improve the burning joy. 

This is a satire on those whose amours can boast no 
mixture of sentiment; a circumstance that levels a man 
with the brutes. .... Happiness does not result from un- 
holy fires ; a purer flame alone can produce it. But 
as the profaneness against the divinity of Love here cen- 
sured brings with it indelicate ideas, we will cut our 
comment short, and proceed to descant on the contrary 
extreme of insensibility. — Procul, O procul, est e, pro- 
fani ! 

Not the dull pairs, whose marble forms 
None of the melting passions warms, 

Can mingle hearts and hands. 
Logs of green wood, that quench the coals, 
Are married just like Stoic souls, 

With oziers for their bands. 

However we may condemn brutality, some hidden 
share of sensual desire is mixed up in our leaven, to 
warm the heart. The delicate glow of benevolence, 
which is found in pure love, atones for, and super- 
sedes, every admixture of indelicacy which too analy- 
tical an inspection presents to the mind. Man is nei- 
ther a brute, nor a spirit ; but a compound of both* 

Not minds of melancholy strain, 
Still silent, or that still complain, 

Can the dear bondage bless. 
As well may heav'nly concerts spring 
From two old lutes with ne'er a string. 

Or none beside the bass. 



160 [Chap. xvi. 

The dismal gloom of mind is not a proper seat for 
love, though it is actually a serious passion. Silent 
sorrow, and silent joy, can have only an external re- 
semblance. Melancholy, like the sickly jaundice, 
spreads an unpleasing veil over every joy, and damps 
the nobler passions of the heart. The querulous notes 
of fretfulness are discord in love, and must not be 
joined in a concert which breathes harmonious accents. 
Plaintive strains suit only the hapless lover, whose de- 
sires are as yet unblest. 

Nor can the soft enchantments hold 
Two jarring souls of angry mould, 

The nigged and the keen. 
Samson's young foxes might as well 
In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell, 

W r ith firebrands tied between. 

Common life too frequently presents this scene to 
our observation. Rather than overlook trifling failures 
or foibles, in each other's conduct, the ill-natured pah 
are wont to put the most unfavorable construction on 
every incident. Such tempers deserve not happiness, 
nor ever find it, whether they wear the chains, or not. 
Every condition of life teems with mortifications and 
disappointments to those who pursue the means of find- 
ing them ; and it is not just that matrimony should 
bear a reproach which is due to sour disposition^ 
alone. 

Nor let the cruel fetters bind 
A gentle to a savage mind : 
Love abhors the sight. 



Chap, xvi.] 161 

Loose the fierce tyger from the deer - 
For native rage and native fear 
Rise and forbid delight. 

This cruel scene, too, is exhibited on the stage of 
life, to the disgrace of human nature. That gentleness 
should be the prey of ferocity is, indeed, a reproach 
to a being that is privileged with reason ; but it wants 
not its examples. Such a conduct suits only brutes : 
and is not entirely represented by them, since their 
cruelty extends not to their own species ; much less is 
it exercised towards each other by the different sexes. 
The males, in particular, are observed to be very ten- 
der in their treatment of the females. What pity, 
that man should need a lesson from a brute ! — The 
poet proceeds to tell who are the happy pairs, that 
wear silken chains for marriage-bands. 

Two kindest souls alone must meet : 
'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet. 

And feeds their mutual loves. 
Bright Venus in her rolling throne 
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone ; 

And Cupids yoke the doves. 

In the preceding image, the poet describes blessings 
which might awake Envy herself. If bliss ever falls 
to the lot of mortals, the state here described bids the 
fairest to bestow it, as the most pleasing circumstance 
of the most pleasing passion. When the pleasures of 
sense are approved by mental satisfaction, the joy is 
complete, and needs only that stability and constant 

M 



162 [Chap. xvt. 

zest of which the transports of human nature are alto- 
gether incapable. But if, through the envious machi- 
nations of time, the happy pairs afterward fall off from 
the glow of happiness that smiled on their early spring, 
it must not be counted a default peculiar to wedlock, 
but a blemish in the general constitution of nature. 

It is this ungrateful reverse that scares away the cau- 
tious adventurer from courting the nuptial tie : i I will 
not build my hopes on the first flattering scenes of such 
a state/ he cries ; ' I will take into the account, love 
grown cold, the cares of a family, and other con- 
tingent embargoes.' — There is reason in all this ; but 
not reason enough. Every pleasure, as well as love, 
will have an end ; and it would be too partial a pri- 
vilege for this first of delights to boast an exclusive 
immortality : flights and falls are constant companions. 
But it is bad policy to reject a pleasure because it will 
not last for ever, except some singularly dismal scene 
is seen in the rear ; as that were a reason to wish away 
existence itself. It is, however, prudent to be aware 
of, and to guard against, such a defection, because 
disappointment is a mortifying predicament. It is 
good for men to have so much insight into nature as 
not to incur the danger of a disagreeable surprise. 
There are numberless innocent enjoyments to sweeten 
the cares of life ; but we do well ever to bear in our 
minds the fluctuation that necessarily attends them. 
Happy are they who preserve their serenity in the 
midst of storms, and can smile at the little spites of 
Fortune. 

4 



Chap. xvi.~\ 163 

Dr. Young has said, (perhaps not justly,) that bliss* 
4 is a tenor, not a start/ A tenor admits not variety, 
to awake the sleeping senses. There is something te- 
dious and lethargic in such a state ; and it is not to be 
wished that we could discard even the evils of life, on 
the dear condition of losing its transports with them. 
There is very little wisdom, or cunning, displayed in 
endeavours to extirpate those amiable passions which 
are the sources of pleasure. What does it signify 
what are the causes of pleasure, provided they be 
innocent? and where is the advantage of foregoing 
them, whether they are lasting or not? — -When love 
between the sexes is gone, there may still remain the 
affection of friends, and some tender pledges to revive 
and perpetuate the memory of it. The concomitant 
troubles of every condition grow familiar and vanish^ 
by time, as well as the enjoyments ; and the advan- 
tages we leave behind by a change of situation are 
magnified by fancy, in proportion as we retreat from 
them. If we travel never so far in our speculations, 
by a necessary revolution, we return to that maxim we 
left behind us, that time levels distinctions. — Nature 
seems to delight in circles. 

We will conclude with a remark on choice in our 
connexions. — Three principal views in contracting alli- 
ances are, beauty, money, and temper : which to chuse 
is the problem. If there are men (for men have the 
privilege of making the overture) of colder complexion, 
who can content themselves with the last of these 
views, sweetness of temper, they have at least little to 

M 2 



164 [Chap. xvi. 

fear from disappointment. One smile from beauty, it 
is true, puts all our philosophy to flight; but the 
charms of it are too exquisite to delight for ever. 
Riches, too, grow cheap by possession, and it matters 
little whether they are a dower on both sides, provided 
one of the parties is blest with them, to smooth the 
road of life. The sweets of temper are permanent : 
they are riches inexhaustible. But neither riches, nor 
beauty, nor temper, can subdue an invincible prepos- 
session ; and strong peculiarity of disposition silences 
general rules. A maggot, they say, is the sweetest bit 
in a nut. — Choose zchich you zcill, yon are liable to 
repent. Happiest he who can grasp them all. 



Chap, xvii.] 165 



CHAPTER XVIL 



Reflexions on Cruelty. 



He who, unmov'd, can hear the dying cry 
Of beasts, may see, unmov'd, a brother die. 

mm 



It is related of a certain Persian monarch, who was 
suspicious of human frailty, that he assigned it as the 
particular business of one of his officers to remind him 
every day that he was but a man. A memento of this 
kind, on the subject of cruelty, as it is continually ex- 
ercised, is equally seasonable and necessary. How- 
ever stale the subject, and however trite reflexions 
on it may appear, yet such is its atrocity, and so fre- 
quent are the examples of it, to awake the sympathy 
of nature, that a repeated abhorrence of it, far from 
disgusting, must soothe and console every breast that 
is not steeled by brutality or custom. It is a theme 



166 [Chap, scvii. 

that ought to be repeated till the practice of it is lost in 
precepts. 

It may be observed of crimes, in general, against 
the persons or interests of our brother tenants of the 
earth, that the great circumstance which constitutes them 
crimes is the pain, or loss, in some form or other, which 
they occasion those the offending party has injured. 
Is one man hurt by another in his person, the harm he 
receives comes under the notion of pain. Does he suffer 
by slander and calumny, the injury he sustains is also 
pain, the mind the seat of it. # Every species of injury 
that can be named terminates in pain. To be the au- 
thor of pain to another is to exercise cruelty. Cruelty, 
in consequence, without the sophistry of logic, is the 
essence of crimes ; and in proportion as it is cruelty in 
the highest or lowest degree, it is the greatest or least 
of crimes. 

To inveigh against cruelty to our own species is, we 
will hope, utterly needless, as that is universally es- 
teemed a crime : for though there have been mfernals 
in the human form, who have taken delight in this 
most unnatural of all dispositions, yet an abhorrence 
of it is too general to require a particular censure. 
But man is not the only creature that came forth from 
the hands of the universal Parent. The same benign 
Being, that created him, formed also the race of brutes, 
and endued them with sensations of pleasure and pain, 
as well as man. His care is extended to them equally 

Anon, ap. Poet, minor. 



Chap, xvii.] 167 

with the noblest of his works. He has provided them 
food and clothing, for remedies against cold and want : 
and the arms he has given them are a tacit indication 
that they are not made to suffer. It is a more unna- 
tural action to injure a being of our own species, but 
it is not more cruel, than to harm a brute. The same 
pain is somewhere sustained, and creation equally 
groans, be man or beast its subject. It signifies little, 
but to the sufferer, who is the sufferer. There is but 
one Parent of all, and it is immaterial which of his 
works we violate. 

Whether or not Nature designed the brute creation 
for the food of man, has been an inquiry suggested by 
tenderness. Every thing considered, it appears more 
than probable she did, for the folio wing reasons. The 
practice is universal throughout the whole creation : as 
animals have no anticipating forethought, the term of 
their suffering is limited to the moment of losing their 
life : # and, thirdly, provided needless cruelty be not 
inflicted, it is not vastly material whether they linger 
under the conflicts of nature, or speedily lose their 
existence by the hand of man. But whether this be 
the case or not, certainly, after they have clothed us 
with their wool, and fed us with their milk, it is, in- 
deed, the act of a heart more than barbarian to aggra- 

* The lamb, thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, 
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. 

Essay on Man, ep. 1 . 



168 [Chap. xvii. 

vate their sufferings with the smallest addition of un- 
necessary cruelty, when their life is going to be poured 
forth, to support the life of man. He that can aug- 
ment their pains when this their last, their greatest, in- 
stance of service is at hand, by supplying our wants and 
administering to our luxury, even in death, ^ is a blot in 
the productions of nature, and a reproach to humanity. 
That needless torment inflicted on these poor ani- 
mals is not rare, every day's observation will inform 
us. The ministers of slaughter are continually exhibit- 
ing scenes of cruelty in the streets. Not content with 
exercising their despicable power over them, in com- 
pliance with the iniquity of the times, they wantonly 
beat and bruise, tease and scare them, that a sense of 
their approaching misery may be awakened, and they 
may feel themselves die, as an imperial monster ex- 
pressed himself. — Is crime ideal? or is cruelty not a 
crime ? Is man a being of exquisite sensibility, and 
are brutes but posts ? — But we will hope, for the cre- 
dit of the human race, that such wantonness is to be 
attributed to want of thought, or to a point of curio- 
sity, to observe the effects of their cruelty on the suf- 
fering animal. Either motive is at best a lame excuse, 
and will not diminish one jot of the pain inflicted ; 
but they are both more tolerable than genuine cruelty, 
for cruelty's sake. Ignorance and inattention are not 

* Quid meruistis, oves, placid am pecus? fyc. 
Quid meruere boves, animal sine fraude dolisque, 
Innocuum, simplex, natum toJerare labores ? fyc, 

Ovid. Met at^. 



XJhap. xvii^\ 169 

the worst of pleas for an offence ; but they are poor 
balm for bleeding wounds and sores. 

It is worthy of notice, that many, who are scrupu- 
lous of their conduct in general respects, are betrayed 
into this vice, and insensible of the guilt of it, as well 
as the lawless rabble. Some there are who superstiti- 
ously regard the most slight and insignificant ceremo- 
nies of religion, and violate its greatest moral duty, by 
a breach of the first law of nature, tenderness to the 
beings around them. This is a true criterion of a nar- 
row soul, which knows no law but that of instinct or 
custom. Would it be believed, (but whether it be cre- 
dited, or not, it is equally a . truth,) that there have 
been professors of more than ordinary sanctity, who, 
when reproached for cruelty to a beast without a cause, 
have alleged in excuse that the beast was a vermin, 
and not a Christian ? or will it not be thought, that the 
beast which suffered was the better Christian of the 
two t 

Counterfeit goodness has been too much obtruded on 
the world for real, and supplanted it. Men have made 
virtues out of the basest materials, and neglected their 
truest essence : hypocrisy and cruelty have been known 
to usurp the seat of sincerity and universal benevo- 
lence. It is nothing uncommon to see worthless mis- 
creants make a point of not burning a scrap of paper 
with the name of God inscribed on it, and erasing 
from their hearts every law he has engraven there by 
his finger. 

The name of blasphemy raises a horror where acts 



170 [Chap. 



xvit. 



of atrocious cruelty would not be regarded, though 
really to blaspheme is almost an impossibility for any 
one but an idiot. Idle words have been termed blas- 
phemy against a Being that is not capable of suffering; 
where nothing more than an offence to man could ever 
be intended by them. The heart of man is not, can- 
not be, so vile as to blaspheme. Acquit him of lu- 
nacy, and you acquit him of blasphemy. If there be 
blasphemy, it consists in action. God is passible only 
in his creatures. 

Custom bears down all resistance, like a torrent : its 
influence is unbounded. To custom and a familiarity 
with cruelty must be attributed the reigning indiffer- 
ence for it : on which account, an abhorrence of it 
should be the lesson of earliest youth. Such a lesson 
comprises a more extensive circle of morality than ap- 
pears to superficial observation. Brutes would not be^ 
the only objects of its cheering influence : man would 
share it in a variety of forms. An abhorrence of 
cruelty is a firm foundation for numberless virtues, 
whose connexion with it is too remote to be readily 
seen. 

History informs us, that cruelty to animals was more 
than barely censured in Greece. The court of Areo- 
pagus expelled one of its members, for inhumanly de- 
nying shelter in his bosom to a bird that sought an asy- 
lum there from the talons of its pursuer ; a little cir- 
cumstance, big with sentiment and humanity. Even 
laws were enacted to punish cruel treatment of them, 
greatly to the credit of the legislators who composed 



Chap, xvii.] 171 

them. Were it easy to Imitate them, and enforce such 
laws, the example well deserves attention. But, I 
fear, the only law of sufficient vigor to work a preven- 
tion must be contained in early impressions on minds 
that are as yet unformed, by a representation of it in 
all its blackness. 

Particular arguments against cruelty are almost an 
insult on a reader's feelings. The first and greatest 
argument has its residence in the breast, and needs not 
the pomp of rhetoric to enforce it, being dictated by 
the silent voice of Nature. The tender cries of pain 
are her eloquent dissuasives from cruelty ; and he that 
is insensible to their power deserves not the name of a 
man. He renounces his privilege of superiority, which 
the exercise of virtue alone can confer, and is himself 
become a tyger, though he retain the human form. 

Many there are who cannot feel the weight of this 
silent argument. To such must be repeated, in words, 
the injustice, meanness, and atrocity, of this vice. 

It is unjust, as we have no right to make any being 
whatever, whether man or beast, unhappy. Beasts, 
as well as men, while they live, have an indisputable 
title to that share of felicity which Nature has reached 
forth to them and tacitly allowed them. To deprive 
them of this, is to rob them of their due : it is a viola- 
tion of her law, and an act of injustice that no argu- 
ment can vindicate. If we can avail ourselves of the 
superior strength of some of them, in laboring and 
carrying burdens, the smallest return we can make is 
to treat them with humanity. We are, in some mea- 



172 [Chap. xvii. 

sure, obliged to them for their labor, and gratitude 
may be urged as a plea for tenderness in our treatment 
of them. They are joint-tenants with us of this capa- 
cious globe, and have a title to the grass of the field 
for their support, without incurring a debt to man for 
food. It is provided for them as much as any of the 
necessaries of life are bestowed on us : it will also 
grow up spontaneously for their use, without the aid 
of cultivation. Hence we have no claim at all on 
them, but are, if I am allowed the expression, in their 
debt for the services they render us. 

Cruelty is mean, because the produce of a narrow 
mind. Men are cruel where there is an incapacity of 
returning the injury. To do an injury only because 
they have power to do it, is a breach of generosity that 
marks a dastard soul : it is exercising a contemptible 
tyranny over an inferior, which is the reverse of great- 
ness. It argues a weakness to be so intoxicated with 
a small degree of power, as to betray the little com- 
mand they have over their passions and actions. To 
injure a man is unnatural ; to injure a brute is ungene- 
rous. The inability of a brute to foil the superior 
cunning of man is an additional argument for treating 
it with tenderness. It is doubly a crime to hurt the 
innocent and defenceless ; a breach of generosity and 
of humanity. True magnanimity is never tinctured 
with cruelty, nor can be found in company with it. 
The most generous and noble-spirited commander is 
ever the most compassionate to the yielding foe. 

Cruelty is an atrocious crime, as (to speak compre- 



Chap, xvii.] 173 

hensively) it is the basis of all crimes. The breast 
that is untinctured with cruelty is prepared for every 
virtue ; and the heart that cherishes it is a seat for 
every vice. There is no violation greater, because 
there is no injury that is not reducible to it. All that 
is desirable in life, and worthy our thoughts, is virtue 
and pleasure ; and all we have to shun is vice and 
pain. To inflict pain is consequently to thwart the 
business of life, and to defeat the end of existence. 

What has been advanced will to some, whose minds 
are moulded by custom, not refined by sentiment, be 
regarded as the idle declamation of a school : but every 
word is registered in the court of Reason. Custom is 
variable, and has authorised the most flagitious crimes : 
reason is uniform and ever the same ; the patron of 
substantial virtue, and uiimasker of fantastic form. 



174 [Chap, xviii. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Scattered Remarks on the Sciences. 



As we find the bee settling on, and extracting sweets from, 
«very flower ; so should the candidates for science gather from all 
its branches, and be totally ignorant, of nothing. Isocrates. 



The example of a bee, which does not confine it- 
self to any one particular flower, but indiscriminately 
extracts its honey from them all, is well applied by one 
of the most sensible, and least whimsical, of all the 
Greek moralists, to pursuits after knowledge; in which 
he recommends variety, in imitation of the little indus- 
trious animal. The advice is by no means contempt- 
ible, as a moderate knowledge of the sciences in gene- 
ral is more ornamental and useful than a perfect ac- 
quaintance with any single branch, to the total exclu- 
sion of the rest. Nothing is better calculated to eradi- 
cate private prejudices than a general view ; «nor is any 



Chap, xv in.] 175 

thing more apt to engender them than a peculiar at- 
tachment. Every science has some excellence to re- 
commend it, but the mind ought not to be wedded to 
one alone. 

The study of the Mathematics is a fine field to 
expatiate in, for the enlargement of ideas. An ac- 
quaintance with this science, the astronomic part in 
particular, resembles a voyage into another world. It 
furnishes ideas so eccentric from the common circle of 
understanding, as to impart to a student therein, as 
it were, a second soul. To vulgar minds, the earth we 
inhabit seems the principal spot on which the Deity 
has bestowed his care ; and the tenants of it the only 
beings to whom he has communicated life. The sun 
and moon appear their lamps alone, and the stars the 
twinkling oraamerus to the dome of their habitation. 
Astronomy banishes such confined and selfish notions. 
The mathematician discovers system upon system, and 
world upon world. With reason for his guide, he na- 
turally concludes that the glittering stars, his simple 
neighbour fondly imagines to belong to this globe of 
earth, are nothing to us ; but that they are the souls and 
centres of other systems, to give light, and heat, and ve- 
getation, and motion, to animals, and plants, and trees, 
in other spheres. He measures the distances of the 
heavenly bodies, and ascertains their magnitudes and re- 
volutions, which bear a proportion to their distances^ 
by operations demonstrable to attention, but out of the 
reach of common apprehension. By the doctrine of 
parallax, (a doctrine that may be conceived by a travel- 



176 [Chap, xviii. 

ler, who sees hills, and trees, and houses, keep pace 
with, or recede from, him, as he passes along, accord- 
ing to their different distances,) he is informed of the 
secrets of other worlds. In a word, he has the laws of 
the celestial choir exposed before him, nor stops his 
researches till he arrives at the origin of motion in the 
several systems, the great arcanum of astronomy, 
which, with its wonderful preservation, he in vain 
stretches his thoughts to account for from mathemati- 
cal assumptions, and is forced to resolve into the imme- 
diate agency of divine power. Every part of this sci- 
ence merits the attention of a philosopher, for its cer- 
tainty and curious discoveries. It was an ill-judged 
compliment, both to mathematics and to our nation, 
paid by Prussia's monarch, when he said he left the 
science to a rtve-creux cFduglois, some empty dreamer 
of an Englishman. He little cared for the height of 
mount St. Catharine* in the moon, because he could 
not make a rampart of it against the enemy ; and as 
little for the extraordinary stature of an ordinary-sized 
inhabitant of the planet Jupiter, # discovered by argu- 
ments on the pupil of his eye, because he could not 
procure a regiment of them to send against the Aus- 
tnans. He keeps himself, he tells his correspondent, 
Voltaire, in the same letter, to the planet he inhabits. 
He does well, if so it pleases him ; and he will do still 
better, if he always supports the rights of his crown 
with as little destruction to the inhabitants of that 

* See an account of these pretty fancies in Chambers' Dictionary. 



Chap. xviiL] 111 

planet as possible. We have seen what progress the 
mathematician makes in other worlds ; now turn we to 
the reverse of his character, and view how well he ac- 
quits himself in this. A niere mathematician is a 
being, perhaps, one of the most insipid and comic in 
life. Absorbed in his one study, he slights and neglects 
every other, as beneath the dignity of his favorite sci- 
ence and his own regard. His conversation is unenter- 
taining and disagreeable ; his deportment uncouth and 
singular. The elegances of life, ever the criterion of 
taste, are considered by him as gew-gaws, unworthy the 
attention of one whose views are elevated among the 
stars. Roughness and peevishness are the clothing of 
his mind ; and an antique garb, which Hipparchus and 
Ptolemy themselves might have worn, is the covering 
of his body. How unadvised is excess! how weak 
and flimsy is man ! It has been observed of the great 
Newton himself, who could not be esteemed a mere 
mathematician, that he was so bigoted to his favorite 
science, as to despise lighter amusements. It is well 
known he expressed a contempt for a contest about a 
Latin comedy, and a surprise that men of education 
should make a stir about an old play. A later mathe- 
matician, far his inferior in genius, aiid scarcely tinc- 
tured with classic lore, was heard to drop more con- 
temptuous expressions about that study. Mathema- 
tics, he said, was the only science worth regarding. 
As to Latin and Greek, any blockhead might learn 
them; for that he himself knew a boy who perfectly 
understood Homer when but eight years old. So 

N 



178 [Chap, xr/tii. 

might any one have understood mathematics at the 
same age, by help of a peculiar turn of mind ; and if 
our mathematician spoke the truth, it was more than 
he himself understood at four times the age of the boy 
in question. Such prejudices disgrace the acquisitions 
of men of science. It were better they could conde- 
scend to play with children and their toys, than to have 
contracted such stateliness. 

The study of the Languages comes more within 
the circle of common life than the mathematics, though 
it be certainly an inferior pursuit. Learning words, 
as it has been called, may be looked on as trifling and 
pedantic ; but it has its excellence, as being a good ex- 
ercise of the ideas, a species of the metaphysics, and 
the foundation of the Belles Lettres. No great pro- 
gress in polite literature can be made without it. 
The different manner of arranging ideas at different 
times and in different nations, the variety of dresses 
they wear in different minds, are a kind of mental mas- 
querade, of service in speculation. The more lights 
we view our subjects in, the clearer are our conceptions 
of them ; the more languages we acquire, the more 
lights we are enabled to view them in. To taste the 
beauties of fancy, in perfection, in poetical and rheto- 
rical ornaments of writing, a knowledge of language 
is necessary; a view which is nearly connected with 
real taste, and no mean accomplishment to a gentle- 
man. It is likewise worthy observation, that those 
who are ignorant of every tongue but their ovvn cannot 
well express themselves in their own. Confined to 



Chap, xviii.] 179 

their native manner, they are excluded from the benefit 
of choice in words, and in the arrangement and dispo- 
sition of those words. There are certain energetic 
modes of expression, certain beauties of sound, and 
certain transpositions of words, peculiar to every na- 
tion, the spirit of which may be sometimes happily 
transfused into foreign tongues, and add to them grace, 
power, and an air of novelty, to enliven an attention 
that is dead to common sounds and vulgar ideas. The 
principal exception that has been made on this head, 
is too great a reverence for the learned languages, as 
they are generally called, which have been compli- 
mented, together with their authors, as complete stand- 
ards for modern imitation. It is true, they had their 
Horace and their Cicero, genius and judgement, cor- 
rectness and elegance, combined, in a few of their 
writers : but if we take a general view of the antients, 
candor will oblige us to confess, that there has been 
too great a partiality shewn them, since every species 
"of good writing among them can be contrasted with 
performances at least equally good amongst us, and th§ 
arts are in much greater perfection. However, their 
reverences ought not to be robbed of the praise that is 
due to undoubted originality, which they may certainly 
challenge as their right, and that respect which is paid 
to masters and teachers. A greater share of commen- 
dation cannot be given them, on account of the original 
nonsense and unmeaning passages dispersed among 
their beauties. The principal reason why they may 
crave our attention is, that they are curious monuments 

N £ 



180 [Chap, xviii. 

of antiquity, and display a diversity of manners, no- 
tions, and thoughts, from what we now experience ; a 
contrast with which, as it suggests a comparative judge- 
ment, exercises and assists the understanding. We 
may, it is allowed, read them in English ; but transla- 
tions greatly strip them of their originality. 

Music, though it cannot be said to inform the 
mind, is an amiable and engaging accomplishment. 
The influence it has on the soul is a powerful magic 
charm, with no visible cause for its operation. It is a 
curious phenomenon, that a sound should tune and har- 
monise the affections, as the artist does his instrument : 
which strikingly illustrates the intimate connexion of 
soul and body, of the organ of hearing and the seat of 
intelligence. The placid benevolence, the extatic 
glow, which different notes inspire, extend even to a 
moral effect, which is more strongly felt by experi- 
ence, than described by words. Endued with such en- 
chanting powers, no wonder an extraordinary attach- 
ment to it has bewitched some of its professors, and 
robbed them of half their senses. Saul's madness, as 
we read, was cured by music : madness arising from 
music has no such cure : more music, to a mind dis- 
eased with it, w T ould resemble the additional adminis- 
tration of wine to one already intoxicated. Music 
may be a great ornament to a man ; but many of its 
professors are no ornament to music : those I mean 
who chuse for their motto, Vox et praterea nihil. 

Poetry is another science, or art, which is apt to 
lead astray, from the paths of common sense and com- 



Chap, xviii.] 181 

mon propriety, those who dedicate too large a portion 
of time to the muses : inspiration and madness are es- 
teemed congenial. But, smitten with the excellence 
of his favorite metaphysics, Locke seems to have 
shewn himself too great a foe to this harmless pastime, 
in his remarks on education. If it be allowed that an 
exclusive attention to it inspires its devotees with wild 
caprices, metaphysics have done the same. All that 
was necessary to be observed is, that extremes are 
dangerous. Its wanderings apart, we will venture to 
pronounce it a delicate, agreeable, and liberal, accom- 
plishment. For the sake of imitative beauty in mo- 
rality, every species of ornament merits cultivation. 
A mind that is adorned with beautiful, congruous, and 
harmonious, ideas, will, it may be presumed, be best 
prepared for moral beauty and order. The external 
ornaments of dress itself, which have a less intimate 
connexion with mental endowments, are a sort of dis- 
tant memento to the wearer to consult propriety and 
decorum in his actions. No decoration of art or sci- 
ence is ill bestowed to adorn human nature. Like the 
rich ore, it contains much hidden worth ; but it re- 
quires skill and care to cultivate it. It must be puri- 
fied and refined by sentiment, and stamped into price 
by virtue. Dr. Langhorne has an apposite and ele- 
gant passage, which has been judiciously selected by 
the critics, on the subject of poetical follies, warmly 
inveighing against reflexions on those human frailties 
which are the result of genius : the good-natured rea- 
der will review it with pleasure and satisfaction. 



182 [Chap. xviiL 

Speaking of Mr. Collins, an unfortunate poet, he 
makes the following remarks. l The enthusiasm of 
poetry, like that of religion, has frequently a powerful 
influence on the conduct of life ; and either throws it 
into the retreat of uniform obscurity, or marks it with 
irregularities that lead to misery and disquiet. The 
gifts of imagination bring the heaviest task on the vigi- 
lance of reason ; and to bear those faculties with uner- 
ring rectitude, or invariable propriety, requires a de- 
gree of firmness and of cool attention, which does not 
always attend the higher gifts of the mind. Yet, diffi- 
cult as Nature herself seems to have rendered the task 
of regularity to genius, it is the supreme consolation 
of dulness and of Jolly to point, with Gothic triumph, 
to those excesses which are the overflowings of facul- 
ties they never enjoyed. Perfectly unconscious that 
they are indebted to their stupidity for the consistency 
of their conduct, they plume themselves on an imagi- 
nary virtue, which has its origin in what is really their 
disgrace. Let such, if such dare approach the shrine 
of Collins, withdraw to a respectful distance; and, 
should they behold the ruins of genius, or the weak- 
ness of an exalted mind, let them be taught to la- 
ment that Nature has left the noblest of her works 
imperfect. ' Were there no reason in what the doctor 
has here advanced, the quotation is to be admired for 
its spirit and elegance : but there is likewise a deal of 
justice in his remarks. Nevertheless, since the world 
is, in general, more inclined to censure than praise, it 
is the part of prudence to guard against that intempe- 



Chap, xviii.] ] 83 

ranee in mental pursuits which may expose the student 
to the hazard of a merciless reception, or throw him on 
a precarious generosity he may not hope to find. We 
all of us need the advice of a Mentor in our turns. 

History and Ethics, which are collateral branch- 
es, the one relating what man is, the other teaching 
what he ought to be, cannot be said to distort from the 
paths of propriety, at the same time that they afford 
much instruction. History promotes the knowledge of 
hJjlian nature in a particular ^nanner, and ethics en- 
large the ideas and refine the mind. Under this head, 
sensible, ingenious, novels, which are founded in na- 
ture, well deserve to be ranked. They are improve- 
ments on common life and common sense, and to the 
generality more amusing than true history, the author 
having it in his power to make his characters as various 
and as entertaining as he pleases, provided he keep to 
real life, without an impeachment of his judgement. 
Many novels are justly censured, as turning the brains 
of weak readers with idle romantic notions, fitted for 
some fairy land, but not current in that we inhabit : 
but these are not what I mean. The novels of Le 
Sage, Fielding, and Smollett, are not liable to this ob- 
jection : in them, the pencil of nature and dictates of 
prudence are united. The most ignorant gossip that 
lives, one that cannot read, has some share of history 
and ethics to inform her mind. In her daily converse 
with her companions she hears lectures of biography 
and morality, to instruct her in the manners of the 



184 [Chap, xviii. 

world, and reaps some benefit from her intercourse 
with them, though she has not the ability of always 
forming just conclusions. Yet, uninformed as she is, 
what advantage has she over those who are banished 
from human society ! A wild youth of the woods, 
could he understand her observations and her stories, 
would admire her as a prodigy. Mathematics, and 
music, and poetry, however agreeable in themselves, 
may with more propriety be omitted than history and 
ethics, as less necessary to a man of the world, and 
more productive of extravagations. 

Natural History is a very improving branch of 
philosophy, which gives a high idea of the works of 
nature and its Author, and deserving of cultivation for 
its usefulness ; but it has been generally deemed a dry 
study, to use a common expression, which men of bril- 
liant parts, of wit, or elegance in taste, are not parti- 
cularly captivated with. It has a tendency, like the 
mathematics, to render its devotees singular, dull, and 
philosophic ; which is not admired by the general taste. 
It is good, in pursuits of so grave a kind, to counter- 
act their influence on the temper by an intermixture of 
more sprightly and cheerful amusements, the enliven- 
ing sallies of company and conversation, and the lite- 
rary productions of wit and humor. An attachment 
to a favorite study insensibly steals on the student. He 
is led away a captive, before he is aware that he is even 
in danger of a surprise. 

Physic and physicians have undergone, from diffe- 



Chap. %viii\] 185 

rent pens, both praise and censure. Wit and pleasant- 
ry have been passed on the science from earliest times,* 
as if it tended rather to amuse than cure. If we take 
a middle road in this debate, I am of opinion, we shall 
not stray widely from the truth, by neither attributing 
to it a magic power of triumphing over Nature and her 
laws, and rescuing a subject from the arms of death 
when the stamina of life are wasted and broken, as some 
have done ; nor, with others, denying it to possess any 
virtue at all. A supposition that it has no efficacy may 
thus be answered : are there not drugs which contain 
propei ties so strong as to stop the current of life? 
have not poisons this efficacy ? Why then, from the 
same principles, may we not grant a power in other 
medicines of assisting nature and healing ? I know 
that it is as much more difficult to cure than kill, as it 
is to make than to destroy ; but difficulty does not im- 
ply impossibility. Disorders that are merely local, 
where a general weakness of the patient is not found, 
to counteract the physician's endeavours, are particu- 
larly a proper subject for physic. A trifling obstruc- 
tion, or a trifling infirmity, of a very inconsiderable 
portion of the human system, like a defect in one sin- 
gle tooth in one of the wheels of a watch or clock, 
may be sufficient to cause a general stagnation of mo- 
tion, where the skill of an artist would re-communicate 
fresh life and vigor to the whole machine. But a 



* ...... Medicus eirim nihil aliud est quam animi consolatio. 

Ap. Petron* 



186 [Chap, xviii. 

proper conduct of the non-naturals, absurdly so called, 
as my friend Tristram observes, is a point more essen- 
tial to health, and an improper conduct of them more 
destructive of it, than any influence derived from medi- 
cine. Trees and plants go through the business of 
vegetation with fewer maladies than man, because they 
are not endued with reason, to lead them astray, or 
otherwise, because they deviate not from the principles 
on which they are constructed. They have their dis- 
eases, but not in such abundance as the human race. 
What odium is thrown on the science, is brought on it 
by the extreme fancifulness of valetudinarians. Every 
malady they read of, by an attention to system, they 
are apt to think they themselves labor under ; and every 
remedy they hear of they imagine will work a miracle. 
. Though the sciences themselves have nothing excep- 
tionable in them, many of the professors of them, by 
their several follies of intemperance and caprice, have 
brought a kind of odium and disgrace on them to vul- 
gar minds, which should not, in justice, dishonor the 
cause of learning. These disadvantages are particularly 
observed to accrue fron an exclusive attention to the 
conversation of the dead, and a want of general taste. 
There are coquets in literature. In pursuit of higher 
endowments, men of letters have been seen to set aside 
all regard to common propriety, and to acquire parti- 
cularities in manners and conversation, which expose 
them to the ridicule of ignorance. This very age has 
given us an eminent instance of such an unfortunate 
metamorphosis ; a learned, subtle, and ingenious, phi- 



Chap, ccviii.] 187 

losopher, (my reader will easily guess whom I intend,) 
who has dedicated his life to the acquisition of know- 
ledge, and stored his mind with whims in as great 
abundance as new sterling ideas ; one who has con- 
ducted his readers along the paths of knowledge, and 
has himself, like the veriest child, needed the tuition of 
a gouvernante in the common affairs of life ; a man 
who has* studied himself into a million of oddities ; 
fancies the whole world in a plot against him; shuns 
human converse, and flies to wilds and mountains^ 
and, what is worse than all, has acquired, with some, 
the character of a misanthropist. Such a farrago of 
knowledge is a greater misfortune to the possessor than 
the simplicity of nature and primitive ignorance. 

Not the manners only, but likewise the look and 
gestures, of a man, are affected by the habit of the 
mind. The condition of a servant (I do not mean 
those pampered footmen who are smiled on by their in- 
dulgent mistresses) contracts the muscles to humble 
look and shrinking servility, and chills the genial cur- 
rent of the blood. The young nobleman has a gene- 
rous and pleasing impudence in his countenance, a 
gaiety which proclaims no care within, and (till he is 
wasted by nocturnal revels) a sleek and untarnished 
face. The miser wears a mask of caution, watches 
your every motion, and slinks about as if he had a 
thousand thieves in ambush for his treasure. The pea- 
sant presents an uniform dulness, his face inclining to 
the earth he cultivates : in the one face he has from Na- 
ture, (for art lends others a variety,) you see all the sim- 



188 [Chap, xviii. 

plicity of our forefathers who lived on acorns. The 
student, amongst the numerous variety of character, 
has his turn of mind externally expressed, a peculiar 
badge conferred on him by the Muses, to mark him for 
their own : gravity in aspect, solemnity of air, extreme 
confidence or extreme timidity, absence of thought, a 
load of politeness, or none at all, inattention to the 
minutia of life and behaviour, great loquacity or total 
silence, and a singular result of the whole, frequently 
tinctured with some philosophy of dress, an uncouth 
or slovenly coat, the livery of the Muses. 

Were all men philosophers, or were there no such 
thing as general taste, these foibles would be immate- 
rial. But the scholar is to take notice that he has not 
the privilege of other culprits when arraigned, a trial by 
his peers : his judges and jury are composed of the many, 
who make no allowance for scholastic whim, and will 
not compile a special code of laws to try a particular 
set of men. 

Knowledge is, or ought to be, an ornament ; but, if 
common propriety is the price that is paid for it, it 
will, by the world, be deemed, at best, but an exchange 
not worth the trouble of making it. Notwithstanding, 
it argues a want of judgement to attribute that as a 
fault to learning which is chargeable only to human 
weakness ; and none but a simple man will shelter his 
contempt for erudition under so pitiful a pretext. 



Chap, cvix.} 189 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Worldly Arguments in Favor of Virtue. 

A LAY SERMON, 

The Authorities from heathen Divines. 



Never, having done a shameful action, expect to escape : 

for if no one else should know it, you cannot hide it from yourself. 

Isocrates. 

Virtue, review'd, protracts the good man's days : 
He lives twice o'er whose conduct merits praise. 

Martial. 



That self-love is the great spring of human actions, 
is an axiom almost too stale to suffer a repetition. 
That that self-love is found to operate in pursuits of 
pleasure, in the common idea of that word, is another 
truth confirmed by experience. And that one state> 
by the influence of time, is not happier than another, 
is a third position ; on which, as proper bases, shall 
be constructed the subject of the following chapter, 



190 [Chap. xix. 

On these three worldly principles, which come home 
to the most sordidly selfish of human beings, may in- 
tegrity be enforced, without recourse to the disregarded 
doctrines of duty and command. Fear is the principle 
that many moralists have endeavoured to work on ; but 
custom has rendered that motive indifferent. 

Though, to a man of the world, it be a hard lesson 
to learn, to embrace virtue as a Stoic, merely because 
it is virtue, when it clashes with interest; yet to love it 
as an Epicurean, for the pleasure it is capable of pro- 
ducing, is no airy notion. It is a motive that has been 
felt by many noble minds, and may be the reward of 
others, who will be at some small pains, with the as- 
sistance of reflexion, to acquire that amiable dispo- 
sition. 

Worldly happiness may be fairly pleaded in the cause 
of virtue ; and that is a consideration that should be of 
force with a villain. The reflexion of innocence throws 
a pleasing shade on every scene. The acquisition of 
wealth, and other courted objects, is by no means fol- 
lowed by so great felicity as the griping fancy imagines, 
even when procured by honorable methods ; much less 
can it command satisfaction when it is the fruit of dis- 
honesty. Those over- weening notions are engendered 
by prejudice, which experience and a general surve} 
will banish. When the high opinion a knave has con- 
ceived of riches begins to abate, by that satiety which 
is the concomitant of possession, he will have calmness 
of mind and leisure to ponder on the means whereby 



Chap, xix^ 191 

he has amassed them. * Under such a situation inge- 
grity has charms more sterling than gold. 

The definition of a man of honor, given by a writer 
who had a fine taste for moral beauty, shall serve as 
the touchstone for uprightness ; and he that can stand 
that test has reason to congratulate himself on his cha- 
racter. ' Were it in the power of a good man/ says 
my author, ( with only a snap of his finger, to intrude 
his name into the testament of a dying rich man, to 
the exclusion of his lawful heir, he would abhor the 
cleed, though assured no mortal could discover ii.' f 

The compact of society, the engagement we all vir- 
tually enter into when we profess ourselves members of 
the community, is equally binding, whether a viola- 
tion of it can be known or not. This criterion of an 
honest man, that he preserves his integrity when out 
-of the reach of observation, does honor to him that 
can claim it, and no one is strictly so who is not dis- 
tinguished by it. It is a generous and amiable qualifi- 
cation, which is never found but in company with 
greatness of soul. In such a man there is a satisfac- 
tion unknown to the fraudulent, unjust, and oppressive, 
part of the world, who wallow in wealth which is the 
purchase of their crimes, and cannot taste the pleasure? 



* Magne Pater divum, saivos punire tyrannos 
Haud alia ratione velis, cum dira libido 
Movent ingenium, ferventi tincta veneno, — 
Virtutem at videant, intabescantque relicta ! 

Persius, sat. it, 
t Cic Off. 3. 



192 [Chap. xix. 

of innocence. To merit felicity, to a delicate mind, is, 
in fact, to enjoy it. # 

That we are guilty of no act of injustice through 
fear of the laws, or dread of reproach, is a mean con- 
sideration, very low in the scale of virtues: yet the 
major part of mankind are wrought on by no nobler 
motive. The pride of virtue is at a loss whether to 
censure the ignoble minds which answer such a de- 
scription as this, or to look down on them with pity or 
contempt. They are certainly not to be envied. Hu- 
man merit is, at best, but a pitiful commodity ; but" 
they cannot veil themselves with even the shadow of 
it : and pain and uneasiness must accompany a conduct 
which is but the offspring of constraint. 

What a pleasing circumstance, what a genuine joy, 
exceeding what a corrupt mind will count a joy, must 
have attended the compliment paid to that Grecian, 
who had acquired such confidence among his fellow- 
citizens by his uniform and unshaken integrity, as to 
have the keys of the city entrusted to his honor, with- 
out the usual demand of an oath, to secure his fidelity ! 
He might have had a more lucrative, he could not have 
a more exquisite, reward. The consideration of such 
a requital is generally looked on as romantic, but it is 
actually glorious. The sacrifice of vicious inclination 
is much more noble than libations of blood at the altar 
of Bellona, which have purchased, too cheaply, wreaths 



Est enim demura vera felicitas felicitate dignum videri. 

Plin, pane?. 



Chap. xix.~\ 193 

of laurel, to adorn the head of many a victor. The 
reward of virtue is too often adjudged to the patrons of 
vice, to the detriment of virtue's cause. 

This reward lies more particularly within the reach 
of persons in eminent stations and employments. If 
men act for rewards, they have the fairest opportuni- 
ties of enjoying them under the most delicious forms. 
The smallest services of a great man to a state are re- 
ceived with such expressions of honor and respect as 
millions of annual income will not procure. Expres- 
sions of homage are a principal object of riches, and 
the upright statesman has them in abundance, his ele- 
vated station placing him in the most conspicuous 
view. When Sir Robert Walpole asserted that every 
one has his price, he uttered a truth ; and the question 
is, in what that price should consist : a more valuable 
bribe exists not than the external applauses of a nation, 
and the internal approbation of the heart. Extreme 
poverty has warped a stubborn integrity from noble 
resolutions, by a conflict which calls forth the tears of 
humanity; it has incited to actions, for which the 
agent condemned himself whilst he yielded up his con- 
sent : but that is not the case with the great. Suppose 
ing that, by fraud and peculation, a minister can in- 
crease his income of ten thousand a year to twenty or 
thirty thousand, is the surplus an equivalent for loss of 
integrity r — He will be more respected with five thou- 
sand a year, and a reputation unsullied, than with ten 
times that income, and loss of his honor. The name 
of a Chesterfield carries renown into retreat. — But 



194 [Chap. xix. 

corrupt ministers know how to smile at scholastic no- 
tions, and to stop the mouth of the pedant scribbler 
with a dinner. 

If there are minds which cannot take delight in the 
applauses of consciousness, they are tarnished and cor- 
rupt: that confession does little honor to him that 
makes it. Reflexions on this head may to some be 
hateful as death ; but they will be so to those only 
whose virtue is at the lowest ebb. 

General depravity doubtless occasions a greater in- 
difference for the cause of virtue, by a discouraging 
.scene of corruption, than would otherwise have sub- 
sisted. Men are greatly animated by example, as we 
see in instances of fortitude, whose influence is a per- 
fect contagion : they would be virtuous where they are 
not, were virtue smiled on by public countenance. 
In their present situation they are of opinion they may 
as well go down with the common stream, as approve 
themselves the faultless monsters of nature. But this 
peevishness is a moral disease, not to be admired or 
indulged : there is the greater opportunity of winning 
the prize of glory when there are but few competitors, 
than when a whole multitude contend for it. There 
have been heroes in vice, who have plumed themselves 
on unexampled acts of villany ; why should there not 
be heroes in a more noble cause I Were real virtue in 
due estimation, were the exercise of it properly en- 
couraged, the possession of it would not be superseded 
by sordid considerations : duty and delight would cen- 
tre in one. That is to probe the wound to the bottom. 



Chap. xi%.~\ 195 

Where merit is duly rewarded, God is worshipped in 
his works. 

From a cursory survey of the moral world, with a 
moderate share of good-nature for our guide, did not 
experience evince the contrary, one would be led to 
imagine that few among us, who are not apparently 
under the influence of very cogent and extraordinary 
impulses, could coolly and deliberately be guilty of a 
flagrant breach of justice or humanity. If things are 
seen as they are ; if virtue and vice are placed in a true 
and conspicuous light, and men of delicate feelings are 
set up for judges ; the former has so much the advan- 
tage, as must attach them to her cause. 

The picture of moral beauty is finely drawn by the 
prince of eloquence. c No animal beside man,' says 
that elegant writer, c is charmed with the beauty, 
grace, and harmony, of material objects. A represen- 
tation of which, being transplanted from the eyes of 
the body to those of the mind, constitutes a higher 
taste for moral beauty, grace, and harmony, and for- 
bids a violation of them in deed or intention. The re- 
sult of this forms that virtue which is in question ; 
which is intrinsically noble though it were not ennobled, 
and commendable, though by none commended. You 
see, as it were, a resemblance of this beauty ; but 
could it be gazed on by the eyes of flesh, it would, as 
Plato says, excite wonderous love for wisdom/ * 

f • • • • Itaquc corum ipsorum, quae aspcctu sentiuntur, nullum 
*liud animal [praeter hominem] pulchritudincm, venustatem, con- 
renientiam pariium, sentit. Quam similitudinem natura ratioque 

o 9 



196 [Chap. xix. 

This idea of the beauty of virtue is not altogether 
chimerical : we have a resemblance of it in the amiable 
appearance of infants. In them we behold, as it were, 
innocence impersonated and visible to our external 
sight. They shew us gestures and looks full of the 
harmless simplicity of nature, untinctured with the 
fraud and baseness which sordid interest and villanous 
design have dispersed through the world. In their 
countenances no cruelty and murders are pictured, no 
baseness and guile, to surprise unwariness. What 
Nature simply rehearses they repeat, nor dress her dic- 
tates in the disguise of art. In such a view the most 
abandoned wretch must find a pleasure. Virtue and 
innocence ever wear the fairest form : all the sophistry 
of villany, and self-persuasion used by a knave to smo- 
ther and stifle his feelings, cannot so far blind him, as 
that he shall be unable to see their beauty in others. 
There are seeds of virtue in every human breast, sown 
there by the Author of existence, which will display 
themselves when wayward interest does not check 
them. 

ab oculis ad animum transferers, multo etiam magis pulchritudi- 
nem, constantiam, ordinem, in consiliis factisque conservandum 
putat, cavetque ne quid indecore effceminateve faciat ; turn in om- 
nibus et opinionibus et factis ne quid libidinose aut faciat aut co- 
gitet. Quibus ex rebus conflatur et efficitur id, quod quaerimus, 
honestum : quod etiamsi nobilitatum non sit, tamen honestum sit ; 
quodque vere dicemus, etiamsi a nullo laudetur, laudabile esse 
natura. Formam quidem ipsam — et tanquam faciem honesti vi- 
des ; quas, si oculis cerneretur, mirabiles amores, ut ait Plato., 
cxcitaret sapientiae. De Officiis, lib. k 



Chap. xix.~] 197 

I have chosen the rather to insist on the pleasure of 
virtue, as that carries more conviction with it than the 
rigor of duty. Epicurus has more disciples than Zeno. 
Pleasure is the grand movement of all our actions; 
every thing we do is reducible to that one general 
spring. And if it he urged that what we think a plea- 
sure is a pleasure, whether it be laudable or not, it 
may with truth be replied, that virtue is capable of 
yielding that ^pleasure, as there have been many exam- 
ples of it. It appears a Herculean task to shake off 
vicious habits ; but a little resolution and labor will 
effect great and unhoped for changes in temper and in- 
clination : # and, when once good habits are adopted, 
the way, that before seemed rigid and thorny, becomes 
easy and familiar. By custom, men have rolled naked 
in burning sands and in snow, without shrinking from 
the pain. By custom, the wives of Indians have been 
animated to throw themselves into the flaming pile of 
their deceased husbands, without revolting at the ideas 
of tortures and death. The same custom would avail 
in a nobler cause. Men have been exalted into gods ; 
and men have sunk into brutes and devils. The philo- 
sophy of Newton is as true of the moral, as it is of 

* Nemo adeo ferns est, ut non mitescere possit, 
Si modo culturac paticntem commodet auvem. 

Hor. lib. i. epist. 1. 

aQclvatoi, {Acutgot; £g kcli ofii<&* oifxog std - ' clvtw 
Kai nrtpyyi Tomgwrw smnv £'«? aagov c uwai 

Hesiod. Op. et IX lib. L 



*l-98 [Chap. xix. 

the natural, world : the tempers of men are as diffe- 
rently modified as the atoms of matter. — If we love 
virtue as far as it is agreeable, we shall love it as we 
ought, provided only we make it as agreeable as pos- 
sible. 

Though the delicacy of men, in general, does not 
rise so high, as that a consciousness of honor will pro- 
cure them satisfaction, if they reap not the fruits of 
external approbation, yet prudence will suggest to 
them how hazardous a step they take when they trust 
to the uncertainty of concealment. If sagacity be 
adopted by one party to hide a base action, the same 
sagacity will assist another in finding it out. The ob- 
ject of fame is missed. Very few, I am inclined to 
think, gain the reputation of virtue when they have it 
not. Men's characters are generally Igiown : and the 
world are always more disposed to find out faults than 
perfections ; darkness, by the enchantments of envy, 
being more visible than light. The knave may spread 
the veil of night over his actions, and assume the mask 
of sanctity ; 

Sed luna videt, sed sidera testes 

Intendimt oeulos. 

The most artful dissimulation will not always and every 
where avail. Internal and external punishment seldom 
fails to follow the detested deed when the dictates of 
the heart are rebelliously slighted. The baser passions 
will, when they subside, give way to Reason, who will 
be heard in some succeeding calm* Though her voice 



Chap. xix.~] 199 

be gentle and mild, it is distinct and commanding ; and 
will, like a nightly vision, attend the villain in his slum- 
bers, and haunt him in his bed. The stings of remorse 
are not to be despised ; # and shame and infamy will 
add weight to its stripes. 

That a man has no conscience at all in his actions ; 
that, by a continued career in the paths of villany, he 
is become so callous and deaf to its reproaches, as to 
have lost the pain that accompanies sensibility ; may 
by some be thought a valuable acquisition : but insen- 
sibility alone can pronounce such a sentence : nature 
and reason, our faithful monitors, combine to reverse 
it. We may ask, with a sensible prelate, c Is a man 
who sleeps on a precipice in less danger because he 
sleeps?' — Insensibility is no desirable accomplish- 
ment ; it will only render a man more contemptible in 
the eyes of others, who are more expert in unmasking 
their neighbours' vices than they are in discovering their 
own. 

If we view Virtue as fatalists, (for I will allow the 
advocates for vice no hole to creep out at,) she is the 
same charming object, the only fair mistress of the 
mind : mental reproach is what the rankest fatalist 
cannot escape when he offends : the reproof of the 
heart is the justice and philosophy of nature. If we 

* Nolite enim putare, P. C. lit in scena videtis, homines con- 
sceleratos impulsu deorum terreri furiarum ta>dis ardentibus : sua 
quemque fraus, suum facinus, suum scelus, sua audacia, de sani- 
tate ac mente deturbat. Hae sunt impiorum furiae, hae flammae, 
hae faces. Cic. Or at. in Pis. 



200 [Chap. xix. 

view her as the advocates of freedom, she can plead 
merit as well as satisfaction. If we view her with the 
eye of religion, we embrace her as recommended by 
silent commands from heaven. Behold her as we will, 
she can ever plead general utility. Her cause is the 
cause of all. We should join to fight for her as we 
would in defence of our city, when besieged by the 
enemy. She is the Palladium of the general good. 



But stop, fond moralist, and unbend your brow.— 
By virtue, is here intended cheerful, smiling, virtue ; 
not stoical insensibility, nor monkish severity. I have 
never yet been able to discover the merit of self-denial 
in innocent wants, or the great reason to boast of not 
obeying the voice of N ature, which she utters to all ; 
of making virtues of celibacy, fasting, and mortifica- 
tion. Why to snatch from another the blessings of 
life should be esteemed a violation, and to snatch them 
from ourselves should be counted a virtue, I cannot 
divine. Sectaries never more disgrace their several 
causes, than when they insist on trifles for virtues. 
Good sense the most valuable ideal, and good-nature 
the most amiable moral, philosophy, are more benefi- 
cial to the world than all the pomp of system ; and 
neither good sense, nor good-nature, will patronise 
needless severity. 

Virtue should not be pictured like a fury, with 
snakes for her hair, and a Gorgon's head. Were she 
presented in her native charms, men might court her 



Chap. ccix.~] 201 

as the mistress of their hearts, who captivates power- 
fully, because she captivates pleasantly. There are 
evils in life (I again repeat it) sufficient for the most 
greedy searcher after them ; and it is not requisite that 
more be added to the number. 

Pleasure, as pleasure, is not to be condemned ; but 
only guilty pleasure : such as injures another is unjust ; 
such as hurts ourselves is imprudent. When there is 
no reason to be alleged against a pleasure, there is 
always one for it. — T' enjoy is to obey, and the only 
foundation for gratitude. Is it consonant with reason, 
or is it consistent with equity, that morality should en- 
join it as a duty to heap worldly felicity on others, and 
bid us deny it to ourselves ? This is a method of scal- 
ing heaven as ridiculous as that of the monks, who en- 
deavoured to purchase it by flagellation ; and a second 
wild attempt to heap mount Ossa on Pelion, in order 
to reach it. Needlessly to punish in one moment of 
duration, to reward in another, is simple economy. 

Pleasure and virtue are the duties of life, and the 
objects of existence : virtue for the benefit of others, 
and pleasure for our own. The profusion of nature is 
lost where not enjoyed ; and prudence is the standard 
of that enjoyment. When licentiousness is dissuaded 
by reason, its arguments are in the cogent forms of 
injustice, disease, want, misery, and death. The most 
durable fruition of pleasure is that which is regulated 
by moderation ; for if evils are the fruit of gratifica- 
tion, we cannot be said to enjoy. 

Unmeaning precepts have been a great cause for 



202 [Chap. xix. 

slighting those which are actually beneficial. When 
men find false alarms, with the shepherd in the fable, 
they are apt to suspect every outcry: and where mon- 
keys are mistaken for men, men may be mistaken for 
monkeys. 



Chap, xx.] 203 



CHAPTER XX. 



Whether extraordinary mental Acquisitions 
be conducive to Virtue. 



I may venture to add, that nature without learning is preferable 
to learning without nature. Cicero, 



How far learning has contributed to the cause of 
virtue ; whether it has at all contributed to it ; or whe- 
ther it has not, in many instances, been even prejudicial 
to it ; are questions that have been started, time imme- 
morial, and which are left undecided. To add to the 
number of the disputants, who have entered the lists 
in this controversy, may, by some, be thought an unne- 
cessary addition to the general confusion of opinions ; 
but, as what will hereafter be observed will not be 
professedly and absolutely in support of any of these 
opinions, instead of increasing party-rage, it may, per- 



204 [Chap. xx. 

haps, prove my good fortune to be considered in the 
light of a mediator. 

In this dispute, as well as in most others, the antago- 
nists on either side of the question advance more than 
truth will warrant, through their zeal to approve the 
justice of their opinions. Among the panegyrists of 
learning, especially, the greater part are blinded by the 
secret love they themselves bear to it, from an experi- 
ence of the benefits of improvement they have derived 
from it. Of all the passions in the world there is not 
a more regular or constant one than the passion for 
study, in those who have chanced to incline that serious 
way. The passion of love, (which is perhaps the wild- 
est in human nature,) however strong under the parti- 
cular circumstances that at first gives it birth, by a 
change in the age or situation of the lover, is often en- 
tirely lost and forgotten ; and, with respect to this af- 
fection of the mind, a man is, as Sir Thomas Browne 
in general observes, a different person in the different 
stages of life. But the calmer amusements of learn- 
ing are of such a nature as equally to engage the viva- 
city of youth and the severity of age. It is not, then, 
surprising, that a pursuit, which has universally obtain- 
ed, should have so dazzled the eyes of its friends, as to 
have rendered them blind to every evil it might intro- 
duce, and to have fixed them unshaken advocates in its 
cause. The partisans on the side of learning, being 
men of learning, are ipso facto enlisted under its ban- 
ner, and defend but their own province by their vindi- 
cation of it. All that they advance may possibly 



Chap, sex.'] 205 

come from the heart ; but they must, by the very na- 
ture of their circumstances, be prejudiced in its fa- 
vor. Nor is this humor confined to men of learning : 
we are all of us partial to our predominant amusement. 
The assei tors of the opposite opinion are of the un- 
lettered sort, and (it is obvious to suppose) influenced 
in their sentiments by observing the want of principle 
and honor in many who have shone in the literary 
world. They have seen, too often, a great understand- 
ing and a corrupt heart united in the same person ; 
and have thence, naturally enough, concluded, that they 
are but casually connected. Upon an impartial exami- 
nation, we must admit the position on which they build 
as founded in fact. To go no farther back, the name 
of Bacon is unquestionably great in the republic of 
letters; he w r as, as it were, the dawn of philosophy 
and science ; but silence is the best friend to the fame 
of his virtues : his understanding was indeed compre- 
hensive, but his inglorious connivance at corruption in 
some measure justified the poet when he called him, 
' The greatest, wisest, meanest, of mankind. " * 

* I may be censured by some, as Pope has been before me, for 
bearing so hard on this ornament of philosophy, as to have quoted 
him for an example of vice ; but really corruption in a judge 
(which he afterwards confessed, with shame, that he was consent- 
ing to) is a very capital fault. He significantly expressed the oc- 
casion of his disgrace, when he said to his vicious dependant?, 
whose corruptions he winked at, when they respectfully rose from 
their chairs on his entrance into the room where they were sicting ? 
( Sit still, my masters ; your rising has been the cause of my fall. ' 
It is urged in his favor, that his connivance was rather the result 



206 [Chap. xx. 

We have, within our memory, another very singular, 
and somewhat different, instance, to prove that the ac- 
quisition of learning has been no impregnable fence 
against the basest villany. Eugene Aram, the school- 
master of Knaresborough, was a man of uncommon 
learning ; he was a proficient in natural philosophy and 
the mathematics ; was master of the antient and mo- 
dern languages ; and had compiled part of a Celtic 
dictionary, which, but for his crimes, he might have 
lived to finish for the benefit of the learned. Adorned 
with these mental accomplishments, would any one 
have imagined that he could have been an accomplice, 
deliberately, for the sake of money, in a most treach- 
erous murder ? He was. Houseman and he, in the 
year 1745, persuaded one Daniel Clarke to borrow 
valuable effects, to a considerable amount, on false pre- 
tences ; and when he had them in his possession, and 
was proceeding on his way, these perfidious villains 
set on him, killed him, buried his body in a cave, called 
St. Robert's cave, and seised the booty. By circum- 
stantial evidence, gathered from words inadvertently 
dropped by Houseman, they were both sentenced to 

of carelessness and inattention, than of evil design ; a plea that 
alleviates the offence, but not excuses it. There are faults and 
crimes of omission, as well as of commission. And if we, as mo- 
ralists, after the example of King James, make allowances for his 
frailties, in consideration of his mental endowments, and remit 
our severities towards him, we cannot do so as casuists in this 
contest : for, if learning were the cause of this irregularity of 
conduct, it would be an absurdity to attribute the effect to any- 
thing else. 



Chap. xx^\ 207 

die, in 17«59. He composed a subtle defence, insinu- 
ating the clanger of circumstantial evidence, but to no 
purpose, as the presumption was too strong against 
him ; and when he knew his doom, he wrote a treatise 
in defence of suicide, and tried to bleed to death ; but, 
the executioner anticipating his endeavours, he fell an 
extraordinary victim to the laws of his country. Such 
a villain as this would bring disgrace on any society, or 
communion, or science, of which he was a member or 
professor ; but may we not conjecture that, by his im- 
moderate study, he had contracted a species of in- 
sanity ? for how shall madness be defined, and by what 
is it bounded ? True, he reflected dishonor on learn- 
ing ; but he is a rare example of so nefarious a crime 
in a scholar, and he must from nature have inherited 
an exceeding vicious heart. 

On the characters of such men, as are above men- 
tioned, are reflexions against learning founded by the 
common sort : but it is inconclusive to draw infer- 
ences from individuals to the detriment of know- 
ledge, when those individuals may so easily be con- 
trasted, in the learned world, with characters distin- 
guished for virtue. The respectable names of Bo)le 
and Newton are as great ornaments to the cause of 
virtue as the others were the contrary. Their lives 
were unvaried scenes of innocence and purity ; then 
actions were as amiable as their knowledge was exten- 
sive. So that, if we rest on these single examples, (as 
more on either side might; be named,) by the very laws 



208 [Chap. 



. xx. 



of arithmetic, objections drop, and are silenced. It is 
indeed highly probable, that the principles of these 
men, who have been cited as general representatives, 
might have resulted from a combination of circum- 
stances ; which is generally the case. Historians (who 
are sometimes given to slander and innuendo) say, that 
Bacon was a statesman ; that he lived within the con- 
tagion of a court : but they merit rebuke for saucily 
reflecting on their superiors. 

In making a proper estimate, it must likewise be 
considered, that the world, in settling the merits of r 
this question, are apt to direct their views to eminent 
objects, to geniuses in learning : we ourselves have done 
the same. But geniuses are noted for their irregulari- 
ties ; like comets, they move in eccentric orbits, and 
are as likely to wander in the paths of vice, as to be 
found in the regions of heroic virtue. When a wheel 
has lost its situation on the axis, it is not known what 
direction it will take. It flies off in a tangent, the in- 
clination of which is purely casual. 

While we deal thus in retale we are overmatched by 
Justin the historian, who has dealt his examples more 
plentifully, and drawn his conclusion from the charac- 
ter of a whole nation. He seems to have been pos- 
sessed with a great opinion of the virtue of the unin- 
formed Scythians of his time, when, speaking of them, 
he observes, that i it is worthy of remark that they 
possessed by nature, and ignorance of vice, good qua- 
lities, which all the learning and wisdom of Greece 



Chap. xx\] 20.9 

did not produce ; and that a comparison between them 
redounded to the discredit of the latter. ' # Granting 
this antient the credit of a well-informed historian, it 
must be considered as a moral phenomenon, that a race 
of barbarians, as the Scythians were, should approve 
themselves the prodigies of virtue he has represented 
them to be, and must have arisen from other circum- 
stances in conjunction with their ignorance; and, till 
he could evince that education would have introduced 
vice amongst them, and banished their virtues, what he 
has advanced in favor of ignorance will not amount to 
a proof, when we find his representation of them so 
dissimilar to the accounts that are given of most other 
uncultivated nations. But these marvellous people 
exist no more, and we must number them with the 
apocrypha. 

Upon the nicest examination, I am of opinion, we 
shall find that, upon the whole, learning has not in- 
jured the cause of virtue, nor so greatly served it as a 
good man might have wished and expected. It is to 
be regarded rather in the light of physic than in any 
other, in which universal nostrums are derided byithe: 
most intelligent practitioners. What medicines might 
prove serviceable under a relaxation of J the solids* 
would be prejudicial in a constipation : what may cure 

* Admirabile videatur hoc illis [Scythis] rfaturam dare, quod 
Graeci longa sapientium doctrina prreceptisque philosophorum 
consequi nequeunt, cultosque mores incultae barbariae collatione 
superari. Tanto plus in illis proficit vitiorum ignoratio, quam in 
his cognitio virtutis. Lib. ii. cap. 3. 



210 [Chap. xx. 

the tooth-ache would not cure the palsy: and what 
may correct the constitution of one man, may be use- 
less or prejudicial to that of another. There are pe- 
culiarities in the construction and state of different 
bodies, which call for different methods of treatment : 
there are obstructions physic may remove, and there 
are situations in which it might be noxious. Changes 
may be wrought by its influence, but miracles are not 
to be expected from it. The notion of a panacea is 
idle and romantic, and nature is often stubborn, per- 
verse, and refractory. Such is the case of the human 
body, and similar to it is that of the mind. There 
are certain habits of vice, certain natural evil propen- 
sities, which mental reflexion may, and often does, 
correct. A more than ordinary share of some luxu- 
rious and noxious passions is, in general, a promising 
object for the exercise of reason, and seems to be- 
speak success. We have seen the happy effects of it 
in several fundamental points of morality, and will 
content ourselves with one very striking example of it. 
Cruelty is a vice to which the illiterate vulgar are great- 
ly addicted, as we may observe in their treatment of 
animals, those particularly which are marked for the 
victims of slaughter. But it is observable, that men 
of letters (some to superstition) are particularly cau- 
tious how they violate one of the most positive pre- 
cepts of humanity. And if this were the only les- 
son enforced by study, (which it really is not,) it would 
deserve to te supported for the sake of so amiable a 
disposition. It is a business befitting a God to com- 



Chap, xx.] ■ 211 

municate happiness to, and ward off misery from, the 
beings he has created. 

By a misapplication of knowledge, which has re- 
dounded to its discredit, there have been men who, in- 
stead of correcting a small natural bias in favor of 
vice, have acquired, by education, greater boldness and 
intrepidity in their vicious career ; tinctured by that so- 
phistry which would subvert the fundamental principles 
of morality, in representing the distinctions of virtue 
and vice as mere scholastic inventions, as vague and un- 
certain phantoms, calculated only to amuse the weak- 
ness of those who regard them. A complete knave, it 
is said, must have abilities. What a pity that such 
men should ever have disgraced the exercise of reason, 
and have obliged us to confess that the cultivation of 
the mind may, with some, be followed by greater ills 
than the simplicity of ignorance would ever have pro- 
duced ! 

A principal evil, immoderate study has certainly 
given rise to, is an inattention in many men of learn- 
ing to social and domestic duties, which are ingredients 
necessary for the happiness of others, though they did 
not esteem them essential to their own. The tempers 
of some have been rendered so sour and indifferent, as 
to make them insensible to the calls of Nature, # the 

* The celebrated Pascal, it is said, had acquired the disagree 
able habit of indifference, here animadverted on ; which he dis- 
played in au unkind disregard of his sister. The reason assigned 
for it was, that he disapproved of doating on, or attaching him- 
self to, any thing worldly. La bellepensteJ A most excellent 

P Q 



212 [Chap, xx, 

tender ties of paternal and conjugal affection, and the 
grateful communications of friendship ; as if it were 
the business of life, and the intent of existence, that 
habits acquired should erase the ground-plot of Na- 
ture, contravene her endeavours, and disconcert her 
plans. But I will no longer hold up to view the unfa- 
vorable side of the picture, which resembles not the 
good-natured and judicious patron of learning, lest I 
should seem, contrary to my inclination, to have ap- 
proved myself its foe ; but will, in vindication of it, 
take notice, that the race of cynics, by that spirit of 
freedom, good-sense, and familiarity, which daily gain 
ground, is constantly on the decline ; and that such is 
my good opinion of mankind, that, if moral philoso- 
phy and nature go hand in hand, we shall have no 
cause to wish the absence of the former. 

By my idea of knowledge, through this whole chap- 
ter, I would be interpreted to mean a distinguished 
share of it. Some knowledge and exercise of reason 
is necessary to make a difference between men and 
brutes ; and the question intended is, whether more 
than ordinary acquisitions of it are entitled to the en- 
comiums or censure bestowed by different opinions. 
By my idea of the moral philosophy I admire, I would 
be understood to mean only that philosophy which has 
common sense, the best foundation for such know- 
ledge, for its basis ; but a small portion of which has 
gone to the composition of many systems which have 

consideration this! proving, to satisfaction, that prodigies of 
teaming and genius are not always prodigies of common sense. 



Chap, xx.] 213 

been promulgated at different periods of time : and 
sure I am, that, had the ridiculous and unaimable per- 
sons, who are exhibited as patterns of vice and irregu- 
larity by historians, possessed a moderate share of this 
useful qualification, they never would have been the per- 
petrators of many of those extravagant and villanous 
actions which have colored the features of character in 
the annals of mankind. 

What has bean observed in the foregoing chapter, as 
it favors the cause of learning, will, with its friends, 
suffer a repetition. Supposing a man, by attention to 
moral study, has acquired the highest sense of virtue, 
and a resolution to follow its dictates, he is in some 
measure obstructed in the extraordinary exertion of it, 
by having a world of knaves, less disposed to iavor its 
cause, to combat with. If he does not partly coincide 
with common customs, he is bereft of his share of the 
comforts of life. To enjoy an equality with others, he 
is constrained so far to act in concert with them, as not 
to exhibit himself a prodigy of disinterestedness. This 
is one of the consequences of Fortune's blind ss, 
who has as much mischief to answer for as the devil 
himself, however she may complain, in the fable, of 
the unjust accusations that are pronounced against her. 

The concession of the almost indifferent tendency of 
extraordinary knowledge, in general, may furnish an 
objection against the exercise of the mind, as useless 
labor. But a distinction is here to be made. There 
are good and there are bad reasonings, false and true. 
In ranging the garden of knowledge, men bring home 



214 [Chap. xx. 

weeds as well as flowers; which is not the case with 
skilful botanists : and it does not follow, from their 
making no difference between good and bad, that there 
is really no distinction. Blindness and perverseness 
are no proofs of the non-existence of light and recti- 
tude. And if an incorrigibly bad disposition loses its 
timidity by sophistical conclusions, a well-meaning er- 
roneous one will be corrected, # and a good one will 
certainly be confirmed, by candid reflexion, and atten- 
tion to just and sensible argumentation. 

* To yctg aworwai ^jtkgTtov 
<&v<T£05 *nv t%si Tt? asr 
Kcti roi TfoWoi ravr BTraSov 

EWOVTE? yVCDfAtUq '£TEgft>V, 

MSTsSaXXovTO rut r%vjw<;, 

Aristoph. Vespa* 



Chap, xxi.] 215 



CHAPTER XXI. 



On Haughtiness. 



True glory follows of its own accord, and is not courted. But, 
if it follow not, good actions are not the less meritorious. 

Pliny. 



The foundation of discontent, in many situations of 
life, is a comparison in the mind of the humble station 
of one with the exalted condition of another. This is 
its original source, which, in the present constitution of 
affairs, admits not a remedy. Not so the aggravating 
cause of this discontent, the pains which proud superi- 
ors take to make their inferiors more sensible of their 
inferiority. That is an evil which lies at the door of 
individuals and claims their redress, by smoothing the 
inequalities of Fortune. 

If we view the subject with a philosophic eye, there 



216 [Chap, xxL 

is abundant reason for caution against arrogance, in the 
slightness of that casualty which has immeritedly given 
to many a distinguished share in the possessions and 
blessings of life. By the natural right of mankind, no 
one can claim a more than equal portion with others. 
No such partiality exists in a state of nature : the laws 
of society alone can confer the distinction. Let the 
supercilious man weigh this accidental difference, this 
paper-wall between his title to what he possesses and 
the pretensions of his poor dependant, and he will 
find cause to stifle his pride and check his contumely. 

By the constitutions of state, and general consent, 
the point of right is fixed and certain. By many, pro- 
perty has been acquired by industry and toil. We all 
agree to preserve this right ; and, in return, expect the 
protection of the general body to confirm to us what 
has fallen to our several shares. As members of so- 
ciety, we are under an obligation, virtually equivalent 
to an oath, not to violate the rules of this dispensa- 
tion ; and an infringement of them is pronounced 
equally criminal with a transgression of natural obli- 
gation. 

Such are the different views of human affairs, under 
the different constitutions of Nature and Society. Not- 
withstanding this change, by universal concurrence in- 
troduced, it can never be deemed the part of a gene- 
rous mind so far to stretch an accidental advantage, as 
wantonly to be the author of unmerited pain to ano- 
ther. In conferring a distinction on individuals, so- 
ciety never intended to bestow a liberty of displaying 



Chap, xxi.'] 217 

haughtiness and insolence. Though subordination is 
an established law of society, and though the different 
endeavours of different men are marked by distinctions 
in the favors of Fortune, it betrays a want of gene- 
rosity, and the impotence of a little mind, in a person 
of elevated station, to triumph over the inferiority of 
others, as over the arrogance of a defeated foe. 

That subordination requiies and implies distinction 
is without dispute. State and pomp are properly con- 
nected with magistracy and authority, as mechanical 
engines for lifting them above the encroachments and 
impertinence of the unmannered vulgar. Little minds 
need such instruments of awe,; and the lower order of 
people, particularly of this kingdom, will run riot, 
even in the presence of dignity and splendor. The 
more civilised themselves are struck with the pageantry 
they behold, and derive from it additional reverence. 
And where integrity is joined to greatness, these honors 
are, in every respect, well conferred. 

In the private concerns of great men, the case is in 
some measure reversed. It is not absolutely necessary 
to transfer all that stateliness to their own particular 
intercourse with their inferiors. It may appear para- 
doxical, but it is literally true, that fewer ahs will 
serve the turn of a nobleman, in private life, than need 
be assumed by a mechanic. His rank alone will ex- 
tort the respect which is paid him, and there is little 
danger of an encroachment on his due. The me- 
chanic, on the other hand, feels himself under the ne- 
cessity of adopting some appearances of consequence, 



218 [Chap. xxi. 

or he would dwindle into nothing, and become a cy- 
pher in the world. 

Condescension, when found in company with great- 
ness, instead of diminishing aught from the latter, gives 
to it an accession of lustre. Nothing more exalts than 
humility. This is another paradox, founded in truth, 
and worthy attention. Affability iri a nobleman will 
purchase him more esteem than his coronet, and not 
take a jot from his dignity. Respect is more cheer- 
fully paid to a humble man than it is to the proud. 
Oderint dum metnant, was the saying of a haughty 
emperor ; but it is a maxim that will never be admired 
by him that is studious of real honor. 

Prudence suggests the advantages resulting from con- 
descension. The affected respect which is paid to stately 
distance is neither so sterling nor so glorious as that which 
is the fruit of humility. Though the laws restrain the 
sallies of insolence and insult towards persons of rank 
from their inferiors, no law on earth can produce that 
genuine reverence which come,s from the heart. Chains, 
that bow down the body, are no fetters for the mind, 
and till that is subdued the triumph is incomplete. 
This is only a consequence of the moderation with 
which a great man bears his exalted station, and the 
sole honor that redounds to the man, the common ho- 
mage being yielded only to his rank, and not belong- 
ing to his person : 

Nam genus, et proavos, et quae non fecimus ipsi, 
Vix ea nostra voce 



Chap, xxi.] 21 & 

There is double glory in enjoying a blessing which is the 
produce of our own endeavours or merit ; and it is not 
known, till a man is invested with honor, whether he 
deserves it. If there be an insuperable desire of admi- 
ration, let the object of it be properly fixed, and the 
virtues of good-nature, integrity, and condescension, 
be signalised in quest of it. 

The old observation, that insolence is a foible pecu- 
liar to upstarts, * is an inducement that naturally leads 
to explode it. Those who have been a long time great, 
or can count a numerous train of illustrious ancestry, 
are habituated to grandeur ; it sits easily on them, and 
they are not possessed with the notion of it, as iirit 
were new to them. Pride should consider this as a 
mortifying and discouraging reflexion. The observa- 
tion seldom fails of being quoted, when occasion 
prompts ; and the application of it is familiar to the 
lowest capacity, the maxim is so universally propa- 
gated. But the same pride, that fills a man with an 
opinion of his own consequence, rarely deigns to listen 
to the promised advantages of condescension. 

Vanity and haughtiness are different, though they 
spring from the same source. The one is at most but 
a folly, whilst the other may be construed into a vice. 
The sallies of the former will excite only a smile, 
where the exertion of the latter will wound sensibility. 
Vanity is an involuntary giddiness of the mind, which 
every one has not firmness sufficient to guard against ; 

* — Ex insolentia, quibus nova bona fortuna sit, impotentes 
laetitia insanire. Liv. dec. 3. I. 10. 



220 [Chap. xxi. 

haughtines is an insolent effort of that vanity, which 
ripens into action. Vanity will allow another his due : 
haughtiness is solely occupied in erecting its own con- 
sequence on the ruins of others. 

That pride is an indication of a narrow soul, is con- 
firmed by the same argument that has been used 
on the subject of revenge. Those minds wb ch ho- 
nest Juvenal has noticed as most addicted to the latter 
passion, and which he has, without ceremony, called 
little minds, are likewise most prone to pride. The 
learned reader will know whom I mean, if he remem- 
bers the thirteenth satire of that author, which is one 
of his finest, if not his finest ; and if he does not, I 
will not tell him. — Where the judgement is weak, the 
affections of the mind are strong. The weakest eyes 
are most dazzled by the splendor of the sun : the 
weakest minds are most intoxicated by pomp and pa- 
geantry But if we cannot help thinking too highly of 
our dignity, it is impolitic to betray the nothingness of 
our thoughts, and to expose ourselves as the marks for 
ridicule, hatred, and mortification. 

To overrate our consequence, and exact more than 
ordinary submission, proves on many occasions not 
only unsuccessful, but often a shameful defeat of our 
proud intentions, and a stinging reverse. Genuine 
greatness will force men's homage in spite of them- 
selves, without the aid of superciliousness. But if men 
plume themselves on imaginary consequence, and then 
command a gaping tribe to humble themselves before 
them, instead of receiving a hearty respect, (which is 



Chap, ccxi.] 221 

alone to be prized,) they may be amused with an ap- 
pearance of homage, but they will be secretly despised 
and made a common sport. An eminent example of 
the folly of this despicable superciliousness is seen in 
the persons of the Turkish sultans. Their sublime 
highnesses bedizen themselves in all the splendor of 
the east; ransack language and thought for swell ng 
names and titles ; talk and write as pompously as if 
they were descended from the sun; look on themselves 
as far above the common race of monarchs ; and 
vouchsafe not to send ambassadors to many powerful 
sovereign princes, in every thing but savage glare above 
them, for fear of resigning a share of their dignity. 
But is there a respectable nobleman m any of the po- 
lished courts of Europe that does not from his soul de- 
spise the arrogance, conceit, and ignorance, of these 
empty apologies for greatness ? or is there a sensible 
man, of a lower degree, v ho can think they may claim 
even the name of gentlemen ? They fight their battles 
with overgrown armies, and are generally defeated. 
They carry their riches and magnificence to camp with 
them, to enhance the enemy's spoil, and have it taken 
from them. They send deputies to a polite European 
court, to be instructed in the art of nonsense, and are 
laughed at for their simplicity. # In a word, all their 

* The occurrence here alluded to is very recent ; most probably 
the reader recollects it, if he has attended to the public news-pa- 
pers. Some little time since the grand-signior sent a deputation 
to the court of France, to request them to commission an able per- 
son, or persons, to instruct his people in the science of astrology* 



~^2 {Chap. xxi. 

swelling language, all their stately distance, and all 
their haughtiness, will not screen them from contempt, 
because they merit not admiration. 

If it were granted that they so far hit their aim, as 
to attract the wonder of simplicity, is that a glory 
when they are despised by every polished nation around 
them ? It is as contemptible a pre-eminence as to as- 
sume a dominion over birds, beasts, and fishes, and to 
be proud of it; and nearly resembles that which was 
said to have been the deliberate choice of the tyrant 
Dionysius, who, when expelled from his tyranny over 
men, was glad to be king over boys. 

But, to return again to private life. I love that 
temper which, while it has sensibility to feel the mor- 
tification of inferiority, has, at the same time, the equity 
not to indulge in exultation in its turn. There is some- 
thing both just and generous in such a humor ; some- 
thing deserving of praise from morality, and of com- 
mendation from a spirit of conscious dignity. 

As long as there is such a base principle in Nature 
as ingratitude, (and ingratitude, amongst her variety 
of productions, will never be extinct,) good-nature, on 

The answer given was, that the science was grown into disrepute 
with men of sense and learning, as altogether absurd and ridicu- 
lous, and, therefore, not worth being known. Whereupon, a little 
wiser than when they left their country, they returned to acquaint 
their master with the news, fully satisfied. This incident, in con- 
junction with the curious manifesto published by the Porte, to 
justify their rupture with the czarina, must give an exalted idea of 
that rriozjaren, (and his subjects,) who assumes, besides that of un- 
rivalled greatness, the attribute of extraordinary wisdom. 



Chap. x%i.\ 223 

the one part niay, at times, be subject to the imper- 
tinent mockeries of an insolent, on the other, as harm- 
less flies are the prey of venomous spiders. Miscre- 
ants, capable of such ingratitude, were intended for 
slaves, if slavery is lawful* To offer an injury unpro- 
voked, is an example of baseness, in every instance ; 
but to requite good with evil is diabolical. Th*s not- 
withstanding, it is easily discernible when condescen- 
sion may safely display itself without becoming a prey. 
If an inferior humbles himself at his patron's feet, it is 
not the part of greatness to trample on his neck who is 
already prostrate ; but it is the temper of meanness 
and beggarly arrogance to do so. When Sapores, the 
Persian, carried away captive the emperor Valerian, 
he triumphed over him by making him his footstool 
when he mounted his horse : # but his triumph had 
been greater if he had received him with the honors 
of a prince. He might then have totally disarmed him. 
I will conclude with observing, that it is not the aim 
of this chapter to assert, that kings and beggars, noble 
and ignoble, should herd in common together, as if 
there were no distinction. That is incompatible with 
the established nature of subordination ; and even with 
the idea of friendship, in a great degree, which is never 
so firmly compacted as when subsisting between equals. 
Similarity of circumstances is the most proper basis 
for harmony; interests, views, and notions, in such 

* Not content with this savage treatment of his illustrious pri- 
soner, he is said at last to have ordered him to be flead alive and 
rubbed with salt.- • • *' What havoc does ambition make !' 



224 [Chap. xxi. 

case accord with, and cement, each other. Experi- 
ence tells us that one order of men retreats from the 
next beneath in proportion as the latter pursues, ever 
in chace, like the spokes of a wheel, but never over- 
taking. The great approve not a close connexion with 
their inferiors from their heart, because they may be 
losers, can hardly gain, from such intercourse. It is 
therefore wisest to court the alliance of equals, with- 
out banishing affability from a casual commerce with 
inferiors. 



Chap. xxii?\ 225 



CHAPTER XXIL 
The Chemistry of Morality, 

Consider well these (rifles, Ph<edru&. 



It has been noticed, and represented as a proof of 
curious economy, that, amidst the astonishing variety 
of the works of nature, there is a wonderful unifor- 
mity. Things and subjects, which, to a cursory view, 
appear not to have the least connexion, are, by a nicer 
inspection, found to coincide in many particulars and 
properties. We will endeavour to illustrate this truth, 
by bringing together and comparing two subjects, ap- 
parently heterogeneous ; chemical lessons and produc- 
tions, and causes and effects of virtues and vices ; and 
by metaphorically deriving, from the former, hints and 
applications of service in the latter. 

The chemistry of morality may raise a smile ; per- 
haps, a scoff: but stop, pert railer, and withhold a 

Q 



226 [Chap. xxii. 

while your taunts : you are yourself a mineral, and you 
are a vegetable; and may be considered in either ca- 
pacity. — There will be this advantage if man be con- 
sidered as a mineral, that a wider field presents itself 
for observation, as the skill of an artist is most required 
and exerted in that department of natural history, na- 
ture leaving more to perfect therein than in the botanic 
world. To mineralogy we, therefore, chiefly confine 
our thoughts ; and, as well as indifferent chemists can 
acquit themselves, we will strive to allegorise the sci- 
ence of man, in a few leading and detached observa- 
tions, and to cement that and chemistry together; a 
process beset with fewer difficulties than the art of 
uniting two congenial bodies, iron and gold. 

Man is, in very fact, to be regarded in the light 
of a mineral. From the hand of Nature he comes 
forth rude, unformed, mysterious, wild, and perchance 
unprofitable or dangerous, inclosing within, poison, 
pain, and death. Like a mineral, too, he contains 
treasure, antidotes, health, and physic. Merely be- 
cause the mineral is dug up rude, or useless, it is not 
thrown aside by the ingenious artist. He works and 
purges, transmutes and separates, compounds and de- 
compounds, till, out of a chaotic mass, he draws a 
regular, pure, and valuable, substance. — The natural 
state of man is an equally strange jumble of confusion. 
Finding him born with vague, irregular, and noxious, 
inclinations, the moral chemist regulates and corrects, 
purifies and changes, his native features, and, out of 
the unmeaning mass, makes up a noble being, a valu- 



Chap, cvmi.] 227 

able member of society/ and a good man. But if his 
labor is fruitless, by the miscarriage of his process, 
and his subject proves refractory, he is, by general 
consent, recommitted to the earth, like the refuse of 
metal, to fructify the soil afresh, and produce those 
qualities which were vainly expected ; and the earth 
generates new seeds of treasure from the dregs and 
corruption of what was before rejected as worthless. 

As the limits of our book will not allow us tediously 
to spin out the allegory, by pursuing all the operations 
of chemistry, we will be particular only on the great 
processes of separation or refinement, and extraction of 
essences. 

Refinement and distillation consist in dissevering the 
essence from the dregs, the spirit from the caput mor- 
tuum. Cinnabar contains a hidden portion of mer- 
cury, but it is lost upon us, if we use not the means 
of separation. Instead of a shining stream of running 
metal, the sulphur with which it is joined gives it the 
appearance of a stagnant sluggish lump, beautiful in- 
deed to the eye, but devoid of motion and activity. 
Experiment only would have evinced, that out of this 
red lump of inert matter a portion of rich flowing me- 
tal could be extracted, white as purity. As in this 
mineral, so in man, the virtues are choked up and lost 
in dregs, and can only be called out by art and dili- 
gence. Education is that refinement in the moral 
world, without which man is but a brute or a savage. 
By education, his dregs and dross are purged away, 
which deformed his nature, and he becomes a man. 



228 [Chap. xxii. 

There have been found veins of streaming purity, as 
we read in the accounts of the quicksilver mines of 
Frxuli, in Hungary, unmixed with heterogeneous drees ; 
but such prizes are esteemed as rare. History tells us 
of wedges of solid and almost pure gold, found by the 
Spaniards, and sent as a present to the monarch who 
swayed the sceptre at the discovery of the new world, 
to shew what riches they were become masters of; but 
they are noted as prodigies : and history records virtue 
found among the unpolished race of savages ; but it is 
unsafe to trust to the hopes of such phenomena. 
There have been tempers of so amiable and well-dis- 
posed a turn, as scarcely to need the officious aid of 
moral precepts : but, if Nature does at times amuse us 
with her prodigies of goodness, she wills that we deem 
them a favor, not ordinarily to be asked of her or 
expected. 

Different men are different minerals, and call for a 
diversity of treatment when we form them individually. 
Judgement is indispensibly requisite in our processes, 
without which we only gain a caput mortuum or a 
poison. A general rule invariably applied is absurd. 
Butter will melt by the side of a fire, and recover its 
consistence in the cold. Salt is dissolved by water, 
but dried and hardened by heat. 

Much emphasis is to be laid on the necessity of per- 
fectly understanding our subject and its properties ; on 
finding out its foibles and its excellences. When we 
have attained a knowledge of them, we tread on certain 
ground, and are enabled to proceed with a prospect 



Chap, xccii.] 229 

of success. Then we are to correct nature by chosen 
methods ; judiciously and with discernment ; to coun- 
teract vicious inclinations, and confirm good propen- 
sities ; to curb unruly transports, and give strength to 
languor and weakness. 

In compounding, the skill of an artist is eminently 
concerned. Wicked sophistry thrown in the way of 
pliant simplicity has wrought as dismal effects as a 
conjunction of mercury with a salt, innocent in them- 
selves when separate. The momentum of the former 
is harmless, by reason of the roundness of its consti- 
tuent parts ; and the stimulating qualities of the latter 
are of no avail, if without the momentum of the mer- 
cury : but they are armed with dreadful shafts by an 
unadvised combination. A susceptibility of mischief 
by nature must not receive the power of it from art. 
Pour not wine on weakness, nor put fire in the hands 
of madmen and infants. 

In extracting essences, a regular heat must be kept 
up. Excessive or unguided blasts will waste the spi- 
rits, will set the whole in a furious blaze. On man, 
pour not your influence unskilfully and inordinately. 
Lead him gently by the hand, and cautiously proceed 
in treating him. Suit your precepts, your corrections, 
your rewards, to his humor, to his patience, to his 
deserts. 

When the utmost care and skill are adopted ; w hen 
means, in all human probability adequate to the end 
proposed, are used ; then the default lies not at the 
artist's door. The subject of his labor must be natu- 



"230 [Chap. xxii. 

rally exceeding worthless if so much care will not 
avail : but such subjects there are, and such there ever 
will be, both in the moral and in the natural world, as 
long as men continue to be men, and minerals to be 
minerals. Some extraordinary difficulties are sur- 
mountable by the adoption of extraordinary diligence 
and sagacity. It is the peculiar business of skill and 
attention to subdue difficulties and break through ob- 
structions. The worse a patient is, the more praise 
redounds to the physician that cures him. 

The virtues of a nation more depend on the superin- 
tendents of it than on individuals. Men, from the 
polished Europeans to the American savages, from 
the most barbarous ages to the present enlightened 
time, have been all composed of the same numerical 
clay ; law and cultivation having made the principal 
distinction between them. Of the same flesh and 
blood the glorious Antonine and the infamous Nero 
were made. The one was a model of virtue, by obe- 
dience to its precepts : the other a proverb of villany, 
by a lawless obsequiousness to his basest passions. 
This truth is peculiarly exemplified in the surprising 
influence company and connexions have on the man- 
ners and dispositions of men, which are almost inva- 
riably modified by the nearest patterns. But the case 
of governors and their people is nearly the same with 
that of workmen, and their tools and materials, which 
are often complained of when nothing but their own 
ignorance or carelessness merits the blame. 

In the natural world, the greatest extracter of es- 



Chap. xxii>] 231 

sences is fire : in the moral world, that fire is repre- 
sented by rewards. Virtue is an elixir, hid in the 
secret recesses of the heart, to be called forth by help 
of this moral fire. If we expect success to crown our 
labors, we must proceed in conformity to the rules of 
art. Minerals demand the assistance of fire to be ad- 
vanced into metals ; men need encouragement to per- 
fect them. It is the business of prudence closely to 
pursue Nature in all her windings ; to read the pages 
of her book ; to borrow from her hints ; and to obey 
her mandates. She is the best instructor, and never 
misleads but when she is misinterpreted. Taught by 
her, we learn, that weeds only will flourish spontane- 
ously : flowers and fruit ask our care. The most va- 
lued flowers die away if they are not cautiously tended ; 
and fruits grow acid if not engrafted. 

Rewards and pleasure are causes : virtue and the 
general good are effects. Dissever them, and the chain 
of events is broken. Virtue must either be a pleasure, 
or it must meet encouragement, otherwise it ceases to 
exist. By nature a few are virtuous, but they are ex- 
ceedingly scarce; by proper cultivation we have a 
plentiful harvest to reward our toil. Villains are vir- 
tuous when hired in the cause ; and honesty is corrupt- 
ed by an enormous bribe. 

Reward consists not only in pecuniary gratification ; 
it has a more extensive latitude, and is seen in a thou- 
sand forms. A man of honor is rewarded when a vil- 
lain is punished, because he escapes that punishment. 
He is rewarded when he is honored and distinguished : 



232 [Chap. xxii. 

and he is rewarded when he escapes reproach. 
Through these, and a variety of other channels, may a 
recompense be conveyed by the skilful exertion of jus- 
tice. Occasion prompts what may be done, and saga- 
city conceives the hint. In a judicious application of 
a few simple truths resides the skill of a legislator ; 
and without a knowledge of them he is bewildered in 
his office, and gropes unguided in the dark. 

Each succeeding race of man is by nature but a re- 
petition of the same eternally revolving scenes. If 
nations are wisely modified by those who preside over 
them, their virtue, like pure and shining metal, will 
reflect a splendor on the moral chemists. If they are 
committed to the care of insufficiency or knavery, they 
will do no honor to their superiors. 

Read the history of every state and nation that has 
enjoyed existence, and we find law and legislature, 
misrule and anarchy, to have been the pristine sources 
of order and disorder. To look for virtue from any 
thing but its cause, is to look for foe in the sea. 
Every imaginable distinction ought to be shewn to its 
friends, or Astrea will never reside amongst us. In 
vain we implore the presence of that amiable goddess, 
if we prepare not for her a place fit for her reception. 

When once the manners of a nation begin to be im- 
proved, the work advances in a triplicate ratio, by the 
power of example. The burden, that before rested 
on the basis of reward, is eased by this second strenu- 
ous advocate in the cause. Men are ashamed of being 
virtuous alone, because it looks like puritanism and 



Chap, xxii.'] 233 

superstition : they love to have companions to keep 
them in countenance, and divest them of the appear- 
ance of singularity. So that, in this case, as in many 
others, well to begin the work is strictly half the com- 
pletion of it. To the force of example must he chiefly 
attributed those repeated acts of fortitude in war, sig- 
nalised by the Romans. A few leading men among 
them at first exerted their prowess against their ene- 
mies the Sabines, the Gauls, and some other nations, 
in defence of their doubtful situation; and their lending 
examples were copied by the whole race of their emu- 
lous posterity, who found courage and victory leagued 
in common together. 

From the loins of this hardy race, by the corruption 
of tyrant emperors, and a contagious commerce with 
foreign subjects, sprang the effeminate musical Ita- 
lians, the very antithesis of their warlike progenitors: 
the former were animated by the trumpet of war ; the 
latter die away at the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
Themselves, unmanned, are described in the softened 
accents of their castrated language, which lost its 
nerves when they lost their freedom and spirit, as if 
the organs of speech were new-modelled with their 
manners. But the same influence of cause, that Ita- 
lianised Romans, would, reversed, in process of time, 
Romanise Italians. — Not that I have lost sight of the 
charge exhibited, in a former chapter, against the 
abuse of this fortitude ; which, regulated by justice, is 
sublimate dulcified, but, without that curb, a sword 
in the hand of a maniac, and a violent poison. 



^34: [Chap. xxiL 

In the foregoing considerations is implied the impor- 
tant trust committed to princes and magistrates ; which 
is nothing less than the general good of their subjects, 
and the vicegerency of heaven on earth. The original 
source of virtues is to be traced up to the throne; 
whence, in rivulets, it flows, or ought to flow, 
through all the inferior channels of legislation. Indi- 
viduals, their subjects, have little else to consult, in 
comparison to them, besides their private concerns; 
but they have the burden of Atlas resting on their 
shoulders. 

By way of compensation for these expected services, 
honors were invented, to stimulate their endeavours, 
and bribe them to a faithful discharge of their several 
duties. Riches and splendor are only the hires of their 
office, not intended as baubles and toys, to amuse and 
divert the great babies of a nation. On the head of a 
useless monarch the crown is but a tinsel cap ; his 
sword is a foil ; his sceptre a cat-stick ; and his globe 
a tennis-ball. 

Arduous as is the undertaking of these heroic repre- 
sentatives of mankind, it has been generally considered 
as their principal department, to provide for their own 
ambition, their own pleasures, their own caprices ; 
and to leave the reins of government to the guidance of 
their most dexterous parasites. It has been treasured 
up as a sacred maxim, though a solecism in common 
sense, that a whole nation was intended for the use of 
one paramount, and not considered that one paramount 
is only the head steward of a nation. It is, it must be 



Chap. xxiil\ 235 

owned, an impossibility to please every one ; but it 
too frequently falls out, that these stewards please none 
but themselves, or those whose private views will not 
permit them to be displeased, because they are greater 
gainers by a fair face than they would have been by 
their frowns ; which is the reverse of the undertaker's 
case, in The Funeral. 

It was not for negligence and inattention to his duty 
that Antoninus was almost adored ; that Titus was 
called, The Delight of mankind; and that Alfred of 
England, a:id Henry IV. of France, acquired the sur- 
name of Great. They signalised their Virtue as the 
price for the sceptre they swayed, and confirmed their 
right to it by the prudent exercise of their power. In 
considering themselves as princes, they did not forget 
that their subjects were little princes under them, 
whose welfare was to be consulted as well as their 
own, from which it was inseparable. 

Heads of families and instructors are kings in an in- 
ferior capacity, and preside over little communities. 
It is their's to mould the tender mind ; to dissever the 
metal from the dross; to root up the weeds from 
among the flowers. Every superior is, in his depart- 
ment, the chemist of virtue and the public good, and 
has an additional trust reposed in him, the due execu- 
tion of which is a debt incurred to those over whom 
he presides ; and as far as he acquits himself well he 
is the treasure of a nation. 

The department of individuals is to select able and 
upright magistrates and stewards to compose the coun- 



236 [Chap, ocxii. 

cil of a kingdom, and to reform abuses. If insuffici- 
ent representatives are fixed on without choice, their 
constituents must lament without pity. If a due re- 
presentation is made, there will be no room for re- 
pentance. 

One individual, it is true, has but one voice ; but 
that is no reason why he should prostitute it in favor of 
a knave that will abuse his trust ; the nation is com- 
posed of individuals, and may be ruined or exalted by 
their concurrent suffrages. And if, at the instigation 
of private views, simple people receive a niggardly 
pittance for the sale of their liberty and the remote 
share they have in the legislature, they pay dearly for 
their paltry bargain in the injury that accrues to the 
nation collectively from their perjured votes. It is a 
humor truly idiotic, that men will murmur at the mea- 
sures of an administration, and, with the same breath, 
give their suffrages to strengthen the authority of the 
men they complain of. By the excellent constitution 
of this country, the public welfare, and the redress of 
grievances, are vested in private hands when they agree 
in support of the investiture. 

To sum up the tenor of this chapter in brief, and 
not farther to declame, these important truths should 
be remembered as reverently as the last words of a de- 
parting soul ; that man is a mineral; that governors 
are chemists; and that virtue is an elixir. 



Chap, xxiii.} 237 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



On Prejudice. 



The mind sits loftily enthroned in man, and is endowed with 
the gifts of circumspection and penetration, to acquire know- 
ledge : Nature having assigned it as its province, to follow what, 
on examination, it most approves, Theages. 



I have chosen to close this volume with strictures 
on the subject of prejudice, by way of anticipation 
against surprise at any freedoms I may be thought to 
have taken with common and received opinions ; as 
well as because prejudice is the greatest obstruction to 
real knowledge that ever spread a veil over it. The 
first step to virtue, say moralists, is to divest ourselves 
of vice : and, by parity of reasoning, the leading effort 
to adorn the mind is to purge it of prejudice, which, 
like slime, muddles the transparent fountain of truth. 



238 [Chap, xxiii. 

The consequences of prejudice would not be of 
such moment were they confined to opinion ; but daily 
observation teaches that the practice of men is under 
the immediate and powerful direction of its influence, 
and often distorted from the paths of rectitude by ob- 
sequious attention to its dictates. The ghosts of thou- 
sands, sent untimely to their graves, rise up in judge- 
ment against it. 

In points of moment, prejudices are followed by the 
worst of consequences to peace and harmony. Few 
are satisfied with being alone under the tyranny of false 
opinions, without endeavouring to enslave others and 
confine them with the same shackles themselves have 
submitted to wear. Men look with envy and hatred on 
the retainers to different sentiments, and consider their 
dissent from them as a reproach, and a contempt to 
their judgement and persons. Hence arise, especially 
in the political world, bickerings and animosity, rancor 
and bloodshed, with every evil that the malice of a 
little mind can invent. From individuals the rage ex- 
tends to numerous parties, and whole communities are 
forced, by dint of tyranny, to enlist in the cause. It 
is a diverting spectacle to see opposite sets of two- 
legged wolves, at a country election, foaming and wor- 
rying one another, they know not why, in defence of 
representatives, who are regaled by their simplicity, 
and purpose to sell them at the earliest market. 

True friendship and harmony can subsist only where 
there is nearly an uniformity of opinions; and uni- 
formity of opinion cannot safely be constructed on any 



Chap, xxiii.] 239 

other basis than that of general truths, which continue 
invariably the same. 

Prejudice and error, it must be owned, have united 
companions in a cause, and been productive of hearty 
friendship, on some occasions, equally with truth it- 
self; but they are uncertain foundations to trust to, 
perpetually changing as tempers change. The vulgar, 
who are confined by the strongest fetters of prejudice, 
are eternally jarring, in consequence of their blind- 
ness, which suffers them to disquiet one another, in 
obedience to every transport of passion. Men, whose 
understandings are refined, on the other hand, happily 
coincide, by a certain sympathy, in their opinions, and 
live in harmony. The general views they have of 
things supersede particular errors, which are the seeds 
of dissention, and conjointly operate to universal peace, 

I would not have it supposed I mean to say, that all 
men of sense agree in every particular. Such a har- 
mony is utterly incompatible with human nature, and 
would terminate in a general stagnation. Of the mil- 
lions that inhabit our globe, there are not any two who 
completely resemble each other ; nor should we wish 
for such an universality. A variety of views and ob- 
jects, a variety of offices and occupations, a variety of 
odors and savors, a variety of pleasures and amuse- 
ments, call for a variety of tastes, tempers, and choices, 
or the bounty of Nature is lost. Must the sprightly 
Mira pine for a gallant, because Eugenius loves a melt- 
ing maid ? or must the languishing Delia die unblest, 
because Florio is taken with brilliant charms ? The 



240 [Chap, xxiii. 

queen of beauty answers, No : her decree is, that Mi- 
ra should be happy in the possession of Florio, and 
-Delia be the choice of her Eugenius : that both the 
pairs should live in harmony as friends, and differ only 
about the object of their love. 

Reason will not evince that what is agreeable to the 
palate of one, must likewise please the taste of ano- 
ther. The pores and particles of our organs are va- 
riously disposed and constructed, and produce not in 
every one the same flavor : the tempers of men are 
different, and are differently affected by objects in 
themselves the same. Brutus might sacrifice a bosom- 
friend to the public, and assassinate Caesar, whilst ano- 
ther, warmed with the feeling of a friend, could not re- 
sign up his private affection after all his struggles of 
mind to deliver his country. We pardon, nay love, 
them both for their virtues, as much as we should con- 
demn them both if they consented to the usurper's ty- 
ranny without the dictates of friendship. Primary and 
leading truths are not subject to variation,*' in polished 
minds, as dependent on eternal and unalterable prin- 
ciples. To injure another without a cause Cannot be 
justified by the most subtle sophistry, or the most elo- 
quent harangue. Reason condemns it on certain data, 
admitted by every one exempt from prejudice. And 
if we allow, with Pope, that there are but few certain 



* Sic enim est faciendum, ut contra naturam universam nihil 
contendamus ; ea tamen conservata, propriam naturam sequa- 
mur. Cicero. 



Chap. xxiii7\ 241 

truths in the world, we cannot so far vindicate Pyrr- 
honism, as to grant that there are none at all. 

Prejudice is the more dangerous, as it bears the sem- 
blance of truth, being just conclusions from false pre- 
mises, and is on that account with more difficulty 
avoided. An open foe is less to be dreaded than a se- 
cret flattering enemy, because we are aware of him: 
and it may even be questioned if the votaries of preju- 
dice are not more convinced of the reality of those ab- 
surdities they entertain, than the most rational philoso- 
pher is of any general truth he believes. Narrow 
minds are ever obstinate in their opinions : clear under- 
standings are more diffident in deciding, better ac- 
quainted with the apish chicanery of error, and more 
open to conviction when afforded them. 

There is no bound set to this ape of truth. To 
what lengths has not prejudice led men ? Absurdities, 
that brutes would be shocked at, have been believed by 
men. Onions and crocodiles have been adored as 
gods. The most exalted nonsense of the wildest ge- 
nius has 'been, by the power of prejudice, received 
with the honors of truth, and propagated. 

When we see a lunatic, with all his wildness about 
him, we are naturally led to afford him our pity. The 
disease of mind he labors under is regarded as one of 
the greatest evils that can befal a human being : the 
tenderest concern is expressed in endeavours to recal 
his fugitive senses, and physic aid is applied to for 
relief. But prejudice, which is a partial lunacy, is 
nursed and cherished. .No pity is afforded to this spe* 



242 [Chap. xxiiL 

cies of insanity ; no cure is sought for one agitated 
by this demon of absurdity : he is not esteemed a de- 
moniac, though his madness extends to the subversion 
of unity, friendship, and peace. 

If we nicely examine the matter, we shall find that 
the greater part of received notions are not the result 
of reflexion, but that they are derived by patrimonial 
inheritance. Prejudices descend, like estates, from fa- 
ther to son ; and the latter seems to think this part of 
his inheritance a necessary article of his father's will, 
which must not be reversed on pain of his losing the 
other legacies included in the testament. 

Not that it is proper for every one to set himself up 
for a thinker, in opposition to wiser heads, or on points 
he is not a judge of. It is no more the business of 
some to make their own opinions than it is to make 
their own clothes : all are not fit for thinkers, and all 
are not fit for taylors. A milkmaid, who would wran- 
gle with Newton about the origin of colors, would do 
well to dispose of her wares. Though the liquid she 
deals in is always white, it will not be expected of her 
to account for this accidental quality, as philosophers 
themselves have disputed whether the rays of light are 
most reflected from large or from small pores, from 
the particles or from the vacuities of matter. # 

I would only urge, as many a simple man has done 
before me, that we should not embrace a sentiment for 
sterling because our grandmothers did so, when indis- 

'"■* See Voltaire's remarks on Newton's elements of optics. 



Chap. wxiii.\ 243 

putable arguments are brought to contradict it. Many 
a man, to whom Nature has imparted a bountiful share 
of good sense, has had that blessing miserably lost on 
him, by servilely adhering to the dogmas of others, 
less distinguished for understanding than himself. To 
have an opinion backed by another is unquestionably 
one argument that may be alleged in favor of that opi- 
nion : but before it be set down for sterling, by a man 
of moderate discernment, it ought to be examined on 
principles of reason, particularly if controverted. Eve- 
ry absurdity of heathen mythology, every deceit of 
monkish superstition, but for reflexion had been re- 
ceived at this day, and acknowledged for divine. 

Prejudices are implanted in the tender minds of 
youth as early as they are capable of ideas. When un- 
der the care of their nurses, they are taught to believe 
in ghosts, hobgoblins, and witches : and when that 
stage of life is succeeded by the next, they are instruct- 
ed to despite and hate the members of a different com- 
munion, and the natives of a different country. Thus 
prejudice being sucked in, as it were, with their mo- 
ther's milk, it is not subject of wonder that it grows 
up with them. A boy, that is strongly possessed of 
the notion of sprites and apparitions, will dread the 
dark, in spite of his reason, when grown a man. 

As one idea of genuine knowledge suggests another, 
so one false conception is engendered from the spawn 
of another. Erroneous maxims in one point are pro- 
per foundations for a million more. The concatena- 
tion of our reasonings may as well be rendered subser- 



•244 [Chap, gcxtii. 

vient to the purposes of error, as become steps to 
sublimer truths. False notions are, then, to be avoid- 
ed with redoubled precaution for the train of absurd- 
ities, which (inseparable companions as Bardolph, Nim, 
and Pistol,) closely pursue each other's heel. It is 
more prudent to combat a single foe, than, by losing 
time, to allow him opportunity to convene a host to his 
assistance. 

The meanness of prejudice, were there no evils ari- 
sing from it, should lead to avoid it. Every narrow 
notion, a man of little mind betrays to a person of 
sense, is regarded by the latter as the boundary of his 
understanding, planted there by his niggardly Genius, 
and purchases his contempt ; or else his pity, which is 
nearly allied to his contempt. His pride ought, in 
such a case, to receive an alarm, and excite to a re- 
moval of the cause of his disgrace. I know not whe- 
ther the character of a fool is not more disliked than 
that of a knave, by the iniquity of the times ; however 
the latter, from numberless considerations, should meet 
the scorn. 

Reflexions like these are obvious to the lowest capa- 
city. No one in his senses will go about to contradict 
what has been in this chapter asserted, and yet all of 
us, in some instances or other, have need of such advice. 
The cap fits the greater half of the world ; but who 
will own and wear it ? Few are found so candid. This 
very blind partiality to ourselves is the grand prejudice 
that rivets and confirms all our other prejudices : till 
men are persuaded that they can be in the wrong, they 



Chap, xxiii.] 245 

never will be at the pains of informing themselves in 
what they err. Every one is to himself a worlds an 
universal mind, and a judge supreme, with whom re- 
sides the last appeal ; and at the tribunal of each indi- 
vidual's opinion must all other men, and their actions, 
fall prostrate, to receive their sentence. We all propose 
ourselves as patterns and teachers, but refuse to sub- 
mit to the example or judgement of any one ; we all, 
like dictators, assume sovereignty in decision ; and in 
private indulge the pride, vanity, and arrogance, which, 
are displayed in a more public manner by an 

AUTHOR. 



247 



NOTES, Sfc. 



IN the first edition of this work, the original Greek 
and Latin of the mottos preceded the respective chapters, 
the translations being placed together. In this edition, 
it has been thought more convenient to reverse the 
arrangement; zoith the addition of a few notes. 



P. 12. .... " The public is a fickle judge," fyc Theatrical favor, 

like public commerce, will sometimes deceive the best judgements 
by an unaccountable change of its channel. Cibber's Apology for 

his Life, p. 225 The author of the piece alluded to was Dr. 

Goldsmith ; but the taste of the galleries is strangely altered since 
1770. Adapting the words of Hamlet to our purpose, we may 
say that their present propensity is 

To sate themselves upon celestial food, 
And prey on garbage. Shakspere. 



P* 40 " Poland presents us with a scene," fyc This passage 



248 

was written before that nefarious partition of Poland which 
roused the indignation of civilised Europe, and was effected by 
the combination of a royal Trinity ; the Empress of Russia, Maria 
Theresa of Austria, and Frederic of Prussia ; the philosopher of 
Sans Souci, the monarch " sans cour, sans conseil, et sans culte." 
Never was robbery associated with more illustrious rank ; and the 
subjugating genius of the French revolution might find a precedent 
among its enemies. 



P. 88 " Envy is the bastard sister of Emulation," $c See 

Walsingham's Arcana Aulica. 



P. 97 " A little island," %c General Paoli, of Corsica. 



P. 98 H A celebrated Englishman" fyc John Wilkes, 

Without scrutinizing the motives of this gentleman, or contro- 
verting the sentiments of Mr. Baker, we must unequivocally 
express our opinion that the liberties of England are scarcely less 
indebted to him than to Hampden. 



P. 119 u What abominable stuff has this writer," fyc Vol- 
taire has also reprobated Aristophanes. There is (or was) a 
tradition that St. Chrysostom was accustomed to sleep with the 
works of this poet under his pillow ; but Warburton disputes the 
fact, in the Essay on Miracles, and fixes the authority of the 
report, if our memory does not fail us, on Petrarch. See Dr. 
Parr's Warbui tonian Tracts. 



P. 145 " Repetitions would grace his poem" fyc The pre- 
sent writer has occasionally thought, that these repetitions ought 
not to offend a critical taste in a higher degree than the recur- 
rence of a similar note in music, at intervals, with different 



249 

combinations. These antient Greek poems were recited as songs, 
or Pa^tohcu, as our English ballads formerly were in fits, or cantos. 
Floddon Field will supply an instance. The connexion of sound 
with the gradual formation of speech and music, of the latter 
with poetry, and of poetry with rhythm, or verse, both metrical 
and rimed, (to pass over the rhythm of motion, or dancing,) 
would furnish materials for an Essay, curious at least, if not 
interesting". 



P. 152 " Greek itself, which is more licentious, rough, and 

boisir^ous" ke> .... With all dee submission to the author, we must 
here dissent from his opinion, We believe it to be generally ack- 
nowleged that the Greek, of antient languages, and Italian, 
among the modern, are pre-eminent in harmony, considered with 
a reference only to enunciation, distinct from the arrangement of 
verse, or the collocation of w r ords \n prose. These languages 
both abound in vowels. The celebrated Count Reviczky, in a 
letter to Sir William Jones, estimates his knowlege of the Greek 
as more gratifying to himself than the whole of his oriental 
acquirements. 



P. 193 " Applauses of a nation" fyc 

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, 

(That last infirmity of noble minds,) 
To scorn delights and live laborious days. 

Milton's Sonnets. 



250 



MOTTOS. 



CHAPTER I. — p. 9. 

Nil prodest quod non leedere possit idem. 

Ovid. Trist. %. 

CHAPTER II. — p. 19. 

Felices ter et amplius 
Quos irrupta tenet copula, nee malis 

Divulsus querimoniis 
Suprema eitius solvet amor die. 

Hor. od. 18. 

CHAPTER III. — p. 28. 

E a i voli troppo alti e repentini 

Sogliono i preeipitii esser vicini. Tasso. 

chapter iv. — p. 35. 
Motto from Pope. 

CHAPTER V. — p. 44. 

Ita res poposcit, ut ferox populus deorum metu mitigaretur. 

Florus. 
Tentat enim dubiam mentem rationis egestas. 

Lucretius. 



251 

CHAPTER VI.—- p. 52. 

Assentatio, vitiorum adjutrix, p'rocul amoveatur ; 

qua* non modo amico, sed ne libero qnidem digna est. 

Cic. de Amic. 

CHAPTER VII. — p. 58. 

Candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras. 

Ovid. Amor. 2. 

chapter viii. — p. 65. 

Justitiae partes sunt, non violare homines; vereeundiae, non 
offendere : in quo maxime perspicitur vis decori. Cic. Off. 1, 

chapter ix. — p. 74. 

E?riv av 'iva. Sfru (xn 3uav tyoniv. Eurip, Iphig , 

CHAPTER X. — p. 81. 

Affectus, quos Deus anunis nostris indidit, ut sint tan- 

quam stimuli ad honestas actiones. Vossius de Rhet* 

chapter xi. — p. 93. 

Perche de la liberta solamente il nome da i ministri de 

la licenza, che sono i popolani, e da quelli de la servitu, che sono 
i nobili, e celebrato, desiderando qualunche di costoro non essere 
ne a le leggi, ne a gli huomini, sottoposto. MachiavcL 

CHAPTER XII. — p. 101. 

Quis enim non vicus abundat 

Tristibus obscoenis? Juv, sat.: 2. 

CHAPTER XIII. — p. 114. 

Fallit enim vitium specie virtutis et umbra, 
Cum sit triste habitu, vultuque et veste severum. 

Juv. sat. 14. 

CHAPTER XIV. — p. 128. 

Toig £s <pi\otro<poit; w^owunw f/,rj avA'arXarrevB iiawa ovofxxra f (uwfe 

A»fg*» we^t l w uk io-ao-iv. hucian. Dec. Bon. Fort. [Momus lonJ\ 



252 

• Ov yct% bvvarov rn\Marov <8pi^ua Tgrfcypai ret; 'itfASTSgetq tW<H&Q, 

Simplic. c. 38. 

CHAPTER XV. — p. 140. 

• • Bonus dormitat Homerus. 

Horat. de Art. Poet % 

CHAPTER XVI. — p. 153. 

Motto from Milton. 

CHAPTER XVII. — p. 165. 

Quam male consuescit, quam se parat ille cruori, 
Impius, humano, vituli qui guttura cnltro 
Rumpit, et immotas praebet mugitibus aures ! 

Ovid. Met. xv. 463, 

CHAPTER XVIII. — p. 174, 

C SlC&n£ ytL% TYIV fJLeXlTTUV 'ogCDjUBV £<J>' 'cLTTaVTCL (X&V TA @Xa?t)[AATO, Xa$l- 

$£iyo(AiVuq (Arfcevoq fxsv aidi^oo; *%}&, wclvtu%o$sv h ret, xgve-ifjut rvXXEyuv. 

Isolates. 

CHAPTER XIX. — p. 189. 
...... MybsTroTS {Atibzv atff-^ov moinsrcLQ^ sXtti^b XvsstV ^ ya,% ctv rag 

aXXus XaQrx;, creavTu) y& o-vntina-uq. Isoc. ad Demonic 

Ampliat aetatis spatium sibi vir bonus : hoc est 
Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui. Mart. 

chapter xx. — p. 203. 
Etiam illud adjungo, saepius ad laud em atque virtutem naturam 
sine doctrina, quam sine natura valuisse doctrinam. 

Cic. pro Archia Poet. 

chapter xxi. — p. 215. 
Sequi enim gloria, non appeti, debet : nee, si casu aliquo noil 
sequatur, idcirco, quia gloriam non meruit, minus pulchrum est, 

Plin. Epist. lib, i. ep. 8, 



253 

CHAPTER XXII. —p. 225. 

Diligentcr intuere has naenias. 

Phadr, lib. iv. ProL 

CHAPTER XXITI. — p. 237. 
igyw evn avrx nara. <$>v<riv, ro f (Act,<rsv<rcL{A,svov £ urnarafABvov, aaoXa^fne'cii 



THE B$tp. 



Maurice, 
Howford-buildings, Feuchurcb-street, 



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